


I Hunt For You With Bloody Feet

by CharWright5



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Typical Violence, College Student Stiles, Discrimination, Explicit Sex, Knotting, M/M, Mates, Minor Character Death, Murder Mystery, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stilinski Family Feels, Stilinski Twins, alternate universe- everyone is a werewolf, blink and you miss them mentions of suicidal thoughts, mentions of domestic abuse of a minor character, mentions of panic attack, mentions of past sexual manipulation, mentions of sexual abuse of minor character, partially shifted sex, sort of cop derek, soul mate dreams, soul mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-14 21:24:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 200,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5759374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharWright5/pseuds/CharWright5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“<i>Mates don't always mean happy ever after.</i>”</p><p>When twenty-year-old born omega werewolf Stiles Stilinski received that cryptic email from his twin brother—who'd been missing for two years exactly—in a language the two of them had made up, his drive to find Stuart is doubled. The search leads him to Oak Creek, the most secured and heavily fortified city in all of California, where he finds that not only is his brother dead, but also the literal alpha of his Dreams in Derek Hale—who just happens to be his twin's Mate and the main suspect in Stiles' eyes. Despite an agreement to fight mutual feelings, the two are still drawn to each other as they try to solve the case themselves, uncovering a plot that goes deeper than the murder of just one wolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Prologue.

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, huge thank you to the wonderful mods at [ Sterek Big Bang](http://sterek-big-bang.livejournal.com) for putting together this challenge. Lots of respect to Misaki for dealing with everything while busy with school and being out of touch with LJ. And much appreciation to Liam for taking time out of his weekend while he was sick to help me out with a million email questions. Both you guys are amazing ^__^
> 
> Next, a huge thank you to my artist, Celeste, for her incredible works. I adore them and really enjoyed working with you. Hope you're continuing to kick school's ass ;)
> 
> Third, a shout-out to my buddy Kaizer for his encouragement during this whole thing and for letting me drag him into the Sterek Big Bang craziness, too. And anyone else who tweeted me or talked to me on Tumblr as they cheered me on, thanks a million. I needed it.
> 
> I feel like I say this with every Big Bang I do, but I swear I really did not mean for this to be so damn long. This thing is fucking ridiculous and I still can't believe it's over 200K. HOW?!
> 
>  _Teen Wolf_ is property of Jeff Davis and MTV. I just stole the characters and threw them in a whole 'nother world of my creation and made them do things. Fic title is from “ _Howl_ ” by Florence + the Machine.
> 
> Art by Celeste located [here](http://dreammaidenn.livejournal.com/6088.html).

_“Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers,_  
_Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters._  
_A man who's pure of heart and says his prayers by night,_  
_May still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright...”_  
~ “Howl”, Florence + the Machine. 

Crashing into walls wasn't anything new for Stiles Stilinski. He'd been doing it for the past sixteen years of his life—okay, probably less since he'd literally just turned sixteen the day before and he obviously hadn't been walking since the day he was born. But the point remained that he'd been crashing into things while hurrying from point A to point B for a really long freaking time.

Clearly that morning was no different.

Not that he could be blamed really. Not after what'd happened the night before.

Every wolf knew that when the youngest member of a fated pair turned sixteen, both parties began Dreaming of one another, giving hints as to who their True Mate was. 'Course the Dreams never showed their face or played the sound of their voice, but that could be overlooked, especially given the content and nature of the Dreams. Plus if the stories were true, then more details regarding one's True Mate would appear in the Dreams after meeting them, further proving that that person was, in fact, made for you.

Although the heart-pounding, skin-tingling, wolf-howling, adrenaline-rushing, supreme arousal upon first touch gave that away, too. Or so Stiles had been led to believe.

But considering how his nighttime revery had gone, he was gonna be finding out first hand. Hopefully soon, though, 'cause _damn_.

It didn't escape him how he was one of the lucky ones, that as the younger member of his future Mating, he was Dreaming right away. He'd gone to sleep in a minor panic that he'd wind up like his best friend, Scott McCall, and his on and off girlfriend, Allison Argent, how her sixteen birthday had come and gone with nothing and they were now in a constant state of flux regarding their relationship status. Scott was convinced they were meant to be, while Allison wasn't so sure and didn't wanna chance falling for someone she wasn't supposed to.

Little late for that, in Stiles' opinion.

Yet Allison was fighting it, was determined to wait until it was one-hundred percent certain between the two of them. Stiles had fielded countless phone calls from both of them—her second-guessing her decision and Scott coming up with ridiculous plans to change her mind—had spent several evenings swiping bottles from his dad's collection of wolfsbane-infused potent potables, had even gone so far as to recruit his twin brother, Stuart, for more help in dealing with the couple.

Not that Stu helped much. The dick would roll his eyes and comment on how all of it was bullshit, never lifting his glasses-covered eyes from his laptop and/or cell phone. Stiles loved his twin to death, but the guy could be a real cynical prick.

Whatever. Didn't matter how Stu felt about it, because he was wrong—for once. Stiles'd had a Mate Dream and it was beautiful and amazing and the most erotic experience of his life. Not that that was really saying much, considering his experience with anything remotely erotic was detailed fanfics online and porn he had stashed away in secret files on his laptop. Really, the closest he'd ever gotten to anything sexual was a heated make-out session with a drunken elementary school friend at her recent sweet sixteen. Granted it wasn't the petite female he'd been hoping to get a grope on with in a wine cellar—or anywhere for that matter—but Lydia Martin's own sixteenth had come and gone with a Dream of some mystery guy she refused to discuss further. According to Allison, Lydia was waiting until she was at least in college before seeking him out, determined not to let any more boy drama get in the way of her academics.

Made sense considering how all of sophomore year had been the Lydia and Jackson Drama Show, back and forth snarking and sneers at the lunch table as they tried to undercut one another and prove to the world they were over the other person by coming up with the most passive-aggressively biting remark about their ex. Everyone had expected a big reunion the day after Lydia turned sixteen, but no such thing happened. At the end of the year—and after Jackson's sixteenth—he'd announced he wouldn't be returning to Beacon Hills High and so far that summer, the only person who'd heard from him was Danny, who refused to give up his best friend's new location.

Rumor had it, it was a psych home, considering how the guy had practically had a meltdown after being roused from a nap in Econ and how he'd been slowly withdrawing from everyone. Wherever he went, it was good riddance in Stiles' eyes. The douche had been making Stiles' life miserable for...well, for pretty much all of it. His status as an omega and his crush on Lydia had apparently made him fair game for bullying and being picked on by the alpha jerk.

Because the heartbreak that'd come when Lydia had Dreamed on her sixteenth birthday—which had obviously come before Stiles' and meant Stiles wasn't her Mate—wasn't bad enough.

Whatever on that, too, really. 'Cause his Mate was _better_ than Lydia Martin—a thought that he never thought he'd think, or something—was bigger and stronger and better and...male...Which, okay, cool. Stiles had been aware of his preference for both genders for a while now, so having a male Mate wasn't a big deal. And he most definitely wouldn't have any issues with being with a guy for the rest of his life, not if the Dream was anything close to reality. Being pinned down by a broad frame, muscles pressed against his back, a strong, smooth chin rubbing against his own, hard cock driving inside him as a thick knot stretched his rim even further and...

And then he'd woken up. Because in Dreams, you were never fully knotted and you never got to actually come. You woke up right before that, mid-orgasm, painting your boxer-briefs as you gasped for air and pressed your hips—and consequently your hard cock—into your mattress so hard you weren't entirely sure you hadn't hurt something.

Or at least that's how it'd been for Stiles.

After regaining a regular breathing pattern and heart rate, after coming down from his high, after smiling stupidly at the ceiling over what was most likely the best orgasm of his life—and he'd had quite a few good ones, considering his proficiency with both his right and his left hands—for a good ten minutes, it had finally sunk in. Stiles had had a Dream, had a Mate, was gonna be Mated and start a family and have incredible sex for the rest of his life with a super hot, super awesome guy.

And Stuart could fucking suck it.

That realization in mind, he'd taken off running out his room, slamming into the wall across from his door and nearly knocking down an old family photo from when he and Stu were six and their mom was still alive. He set it right, hovered his hands near it to make sure it didn't fall, then turned to the left and scurried down to his twin's room.

Stu's bedroom door still featured the “ _Go Away_ ” sign he'd made when they were eight and he was feeling particularly cranky, along with a homemade wood plaque their mom had painted with his name on it. Stiles' had his birth name on it, meaning it was no longer on his door but stashed in a box in his closet. He brought it out on occasion, usually the anniversary of their mom's death, when he was feeling nostalgic and wanted a small piece of her close. Stuart clearly had no issues keeping his out in the open, but that was most likely due to the fact that his name was actually _pronounceable_. He mentally cursed his mom's decision to name her twins after their grandfathers and the fact that he was named after his maternal one, a man who'd had an extremely Polish name that literally couldn't be spoken by any normal tongues.

Shaking his head, he got rid of the mental tangent and raised his fist, ready to pound on the door. Only for the action to be rendered unnecessary by the door opening and revealing his brother. Stuart cocked an eyebrow over his thick rimmed glasses, torso covered by a faded gray graphic tee and blue cardigan, legs shoved into black skinny jeans, matching beanie covering his messy mop of brown hair. Stiles subconsciously rubbed a hand over his buzzcut, absently wondering if he should grow his own hair out before shoving that thought aside. The hair was sometimes the only way people could tell them apart, despite the fact that he had more moles than his brother, his nose was slightly more upturned, his face was more towards an oval shape while his brother's was rounder, and his fingers were longer. But whatever. Wasn't like anyone paid that much attention towards him—at least not physically—so it was highly unlikely that anyone would be able to actually tell them apart, especially in baby photos when they had the exact same haircut and their mom insisted on dressing them in matching outfits.

Except for Scott. He could always tell them apart, but that was most likely due to the fact that Stiles had known the guy since they were five.

Lowering his hand, Stiles waved pathetically at his twin, opening his mouth for a greeting, only to get sidetrack as his eyes came across what was in the elder's hand. He felt his brow draw into a puzzled frown, fingers curling up as he pointed at the X-Men mug and the steam swirling into the air above it. Man, he must've been really out of it to not have noticed the scent of freshly brewed coffee that was currently punching him in the face and reminding him that he was incredibly caffeine deprived at that moment.

Then again, waking up mid-mind-blowing-orgasm could seriously mess with a guy's head. No wonder he felt so fucking out of it.

“Coffee?” he asked, voice a mix of confused and offended due to the fact that he didn't have a mug of the hot stuff of his own.

Stuart rolled his eyes in an achingly familiar way, stepping back as he shook his head at his brother's idiocy. “Too early for whiskey,” he deadpanned as he turned and walked further into his room, a wordless invite for Stiles to enter, too.

The younger twin took the hint, stepping inside and closing the door behind himself. He watched as Stuart flopped down on the rolling chair by his desk, heaving a sigh as he placed his mug on the black wood, fingers rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “Why would you be drinking whiskey at eight am?” Stiles questioned, confusion growing.

A head shake was the only response he got, watching as Stuart reached over and closed the lid of his already booted up laptop. Not surprising the device was already up and running. Guy probably turned it on as soon as he'd shoved his glasses on his face. Fucking technology nerd.

He dropped his hands onto his lap as he slumped in his chair, legs spread as far as his pants will allow, posture godawful really, giving Stiles a completely unimpressed look. “Any particular reason why you came in here smelling like come and desperation?” he snarked, eyebrow cocked once more. “Seriously. You could've at least showered before infecting my room with that sorta shit.”

Stiles felt his face heat up as he meandered his way over to his brother's bed, slowly sinking down on the end of it. “Yeeeah,” he stretched the word out, rubbing at the back of his neck. Not his greatest plan really. But he'd just been so damn excited over the fact that he'd actually had a Dream that he got in too much of a hurry to share the news. Meaning it slipped his mind that he most likely reeked of his own come and slick and that it wasn't exactly something his brother would wanna smell on him. God knew Stiles cringed every time he caught those scents on Scott after he'd been hanging out with Allison. He couldn't imagine how bad it would be on his twin.

Stuart's second eyebrow raised, head tilting down slightly in an expectant manner as he awaited a further explanation. Which Stiles didn't have. Other than “whoops! My bad, bro”, but he wasn't gonna say that. He'd get yet another eyeroll for his trouble.

Stiles dropped his own hand onto his lap, letting it slap against his pajama covered thigh with a loud smack before gesturing to his twin helplessly. “I, uh. I Dreamed.”

The elder twin snorted, folding his arms over his chest as he began to slowly swivel back and forth. “Yeah. Most people do that when they sleep at night. It's part of an average person's sleep cycle.”

He narrowed whiskey eyes, not appreciating the snark that was a Stilinski family trait really. Wasn't like he didn't give as good as he got, but sometimes it could be super annoying. Like at that moment, when Stuart clearly freaking knew what Stiles meant, but was being a total shit about it for no reason other than the fact that he could.

“No, jackass,” Stiles replied flatly, giving his twin a hard look. “I meant, I _Dreamed_.”

Stuart nodded slowly once, still swiveling, shrugging his shoulders. His scent shifted to something uncomfortable, eyes roaming around the room before settling on his brother once more. “Okay. And?” He shrugged again, shaking his head to show that he didn't see the point of that being shared.

“ _And_ ,” Stiles continued, knee bouncing up and down, chewing on a thumbnail as he thought it over. Really, he kinda figured his brother would be happy for him. They'd often stayed up at night talking about what it would be like to Dream, about how excited they were to figure out who their Mate was. Despite Stuart's recent cynicism towards the whole thing, he still would smell just a tiny bit eager about it, like he was looking forward to it himself. And pretty much everyone in their circle of friends knew Stiles was fucking stoked about it. He'd talked non-stop about it for the past year or so, had given countdowns with increasing frequency about how close he was to turning sixteen and how badly he wanted to know who his Mate was and how badly he hoped he'd have a Dream.

And now that he'd actually had one and had an _idea_ over who his Mate was—big, muscular, male, chiseled jaw and fantastic abs—his brother just couldn't give any less of a fuck.

Nice.

“And I'm actually really fucking excited about it,” Stiles shared, features arranging into a slight scowl of sorts as he pegged his twin with a hard look. The “you asshole” went unsaid, but given their own unspoken way of communicating, he was pretty sure Stu picked up on it. “Just thought you'd wanna fucking know.”

The elder twin actually had the decency to smell ashamed, looking away momentarily as he pressed his lips into a hard line. He fiddled with his beanie—despite it still being perfectly placed, brown tufts of hair sticking out the front—and rolled his shoulders before turning back to Stiles, sighing so quietly it was almost inaudible. “Sorry. I'm happy for you. Really,” he stated genuinely, small smile tugging up the corner of his lips before disappearing again. Twisting slightly, he grabbed his mug off the desk, blowing on it as he brought it to his mouth. “I still say the whole thing is bullshit though.”

It was Stiles' turn to roll his eyes, sighing as he hung his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “You could at least pretend to give a shit, Stu,” he murmured, dropping his hands between his knees.

“Why? Think I've made it pretty clear that the whole Mate thing is bullshit and that some Dream doesn't determine your fate and the fact that people actually buy into all that just proves that the entire world is comprised of naïve and gullible morons.”

A snort rocked his body, eyes rolling again. “Guess I'm a moron then,” he pointed out, raising his head to look at his twin, who was pointedly staring down at his mug as he held it on his right thigh. “Guess Dad's a moron, Mom _was_ a moron. Scott and Allison, Lydia, Danny, practically everyone we know.” His eyes narrowed into a hard glare as offense colored his scent, jaw tightening as his teeth ground.

It was one thing to not believe in it, that was fine, that was cool. Everyone had their own opinions about everything and the idea of Mates and Dreams and whether or not people are fated to be together was one of those controversial things that tended to split people. But to call those who believed “morons” was too much. Especially considering the fact that he lumped Lydia in there, a female with the highest IQ Stiles had heard of outside of Einstein and was on the fast track to not only graduate early, but as valedictorian. And Stiles himself was no slouch academically, was third in class behind her and Stuart. So to be called an idiot solely for thinking and feeling a certain way was not only incredibly inaccurate, but also nonsensical. And hurtful, too, considering it was his _twin_ calling him that.

Prick.

Stuart just shrugged, still staring down at his coffee, though not seeming to actually see it. His scent was all over the place and Stiles had a hard time trying to decipher it, to pick through all the layers and take apart individual notes in the chemosignals. Upset, discomfort, an overwhelming desire to just not talk about it. Which, okay, he probably didn't wanna discuss the whole Dream thing further, given his lack of interest and his apparent belief that it was “bullshit”, but still. There shouldn't have been all those other scents with it, his brother shouldn't have seemed so distant and detached.

Because he was. His brown eyes were glazed over, far away, like he was lost in thought and unable to find his way back. If he even wanted to find it at any rate. It made Stiles wonder what the hell had happened, why his brother had gone to bed with a small hint of hope and anticipation after Stiles had wished him a suggestive “sweet dreams”, only to wake up feeling so hopeless and uncaring and upset.

Unless...

“Stu?” he began, scooting forward on the bed as he bent over his legs, elbows resting on his knees as his hands clasped together. “Did. Did you not Dream?” he asked cautiously, slowly, pausing to lick his lips before continuing. “Because that might not mean that you don't have a Mate. You might just be older than them. You can't give up hope just yet, it's not over, it's gonna—”

“Stiles,” his brother breathed out, closing his eyes before rubbing his fingers over the lids under his glasses. His body was taught, rigid, and his scent gave off wave after wave of just being so _done_ with it all. Another familiar thing about his twin really, and Stiles was sure he wore that same scent on occasion as well. Just not as often, since he was well-aware of his position as the more annoying twin.

“Look,” Stu began, lowering his hand and gesturing helplessly, mouth hanging open as he let out choked out noises that were most likely meant to be words. “I-I. Yeah. I didn't Dream. And it's fine, it's whatever. Not everyone gets a Mate and I might be one of them.” He finally turned and looked at his twin, shrugging and shaking his head nonchalantly, dismissing the whole thing. “It's not a big deal.”

Stiles swallowed hard, a lump in his throat created by his brother's words. He knew, just like everyone else, that not every person had a Mate. Some people just...Well, there was no real reason or explanation given. Dreams and Mates weren't a science, weren't something they could research and figure out. Hell, even after several centuries of research, there was still no explaining why they were able to shift into wolves, why the moon controlled them the way it did, why they were able to do all that they could. It was just accepted as magic and that was the end of it.

Soul Mate Dreams were the same thing. No rhyme or reason for it. There were theories, sure, that Mates ensured the strongest genes continued, that alphas didn't end up with alphas and tore one another apart, that omegas didn't wind up with omegas and were unable to survive harsh winters and bad hunting seasons back in olden times. And while the latter part of that made sense, the strong gene thing wasn't something Stiles could understand, considering the fact that same sex Mates existed and that males couldn't procreate with males and females couldn't procreate with females.

He figured it had to do with balance, making sure that people weren't too much in the red. Omegas had someone to provide for them and protect them, alphas had someone to calm them down and make sure they didn't become too aggressive or feral. It was about finding your other half and completing yourself, about finding that person who would make you better and help you become the best version of yourself that you could possibly be.

Didn't explain why some people didn't get Mates or have the Dreams, but he figured that had more to do with the person themselves. Maybe they were perfect enough on their own, were fully independent and could support themselves—made sense since most Dream-less people tended to be betas, who weren't aggressive like alphas or weak like omegas—and didn't need someone to help complete them or whatever.

Some theories stated that those people did in fact have a Mate, but something happened to them before they become of age, therefore rendering the Dreams unnecessary and just making them a sort of torture that would slowly drive the wolf mad. Stiles didn't like to think of that idea though. It was too damn depressing.

His eyes roamed his brother, noted the way his head hung as he stared at his coffee once more, the way his thumb was absently rubbing the top of his mug, the way his free hand was wringing the back of his neck. There was no way Stuart was one of those who didn't have a Mate. For starters, he was an omega like Stiles, and while it was an insult to his own dynamic and Stiles hated admitting it, they needed someone to take care of them. Secondly, the guy was too good. He was the better looking twin, the smarter one, the one with everything going for him, the one with the bright future and the entire world laid at his feet. The fact that he wouldn't be able to share that with someone was just...it was bullshit. Unfathomable. Stuart could give so much to someone and there was no way fate wouldn't give that to him.

Unless the theory over deceased Mates was true.

No. It was just that Stuart was older than his Mate, that was all. And if Stuart didn't believe that, then fine. Stiles would believe it enough for the two of them, then take full advantage in the future to do his “I fucking told you so” dance and shove it in his twin's face.

“Stu—”

“Don't,” the elder twin interrupted, eyes closing tight again. “We had a good birthday yesterday, we got Mom's old Jeep, we had fun with our friends, and I really just don't wanna talk about this anymore.” He reopened his eyes, locking the chocolate orbs on his twin, his scent desperate and his eyes pleading with him. “I really am happy that you had a Dream. I know how much it means to you and how worried you'd been that you'd wind up as one of those Dream-less people, so in that aspect, I'm thrilled. I'm just done discussing my possibly being one of them, all right?”

Stiles nodded his head, helpless to do anything but go along with his brother's wishes. Not when he was smelling so done and begging for the topic to be over. “Sure,” he murmured, weak smile tugging up the corner of his lips. “Whatever you want.”

A pathetic mimicry of a smile ghosted on Stuart's face as he let out a low “thanks” before draining the rest of his coffee and rising to his feet. “For now, how 'bout we just go get some breakfast and you can ramble about your Dream, yeah?”

The younger twin lit up at that, full smile on his face as flashes came back to him. But as excited as he was to share everything, part of him really didn't want to. It felt too private, too personal, too intimate. It felt like it should be kept to himself, this little thing he could horde away from everyone else, his and only his. Being a twin meant growing up sharing everything: a room, toys, bathtime, parents' attention, a name—considering how a majority of people just called them 'The Stilinski Twins' rather than learning how to actually tell them apart. But this? This Dream, this was all his, one-hundred percent, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Plus it felt wrong to brag and to share all those details with his brother who was so far Dream-less. It was like shoving it in his face that he was better somehow—although Stu never really stopped himself from boasting or flaunting his own accomplishments—and reminding him of his upset. Pretty messed up in Stiles' opinion and as much as he could be an ass—especially to his twin, which really was his prerogative and his job as a sibling—he wasn't that much of a dick.

Then again, he was _dying_ to say _something_ about it and he had technically been given permission to do so. It wouldn't hurt to share _some_ aspects of it, just keep the more personal details to himself.

Mind made up, he rose to his feet, adjusting his sleep tee around his waist, grin forming on his face. His heart rate sped up and butterflies formed in his tummy as he remembered his Dream, as flashes came back to him once more. He ducked his head slightly, rubbing the back of his head shyly, breathing out a small laugh.

“Well,” he began, biting his bottom lip before continuing. “He's an alpha.”

Stuart snorted, rolling his eyes as he snatched up his phone and stepped over to his door. “Shocker. The male omega has a male alpha for a Mate,” he sarcastically commented, getting a shove in the back in response.

“See if I share anything else with you, you prick,” Stiles replied as he followed his twin out the door and down the hall.

“Oh no,” the elder continued with the sarcasm, waving his hands about while descending the stairs. “I'm never gonna hear about your Dream sex and get details over all the boning you're having while you're asleep.” He put a hand to his chest, leaning over like he was hurt. “Crushed.”

Stiles huffed as he clomped behind his brother, rolling his eyes and wondering why the hell he'd been stuck with a douche for a twin. A phantom torso pressed against his back, a glimmer of what he'd Dreamed, and he felt his heart skip a beat. Maybe he'd get lucky and his Mate was super nice, super fun, super supportive, and not a cynical asshole who constantly had to downplay every exciting thing that happened to him.

Maybe.

His eyes flicked to the back of his twin's beanie covered head, chest constricting in sympathy at his less than desirable fate. Maybe they'd both get lucky and get those happily ever afters everyone wanted. Not likely to happen, but if Stiles had to choose, he'd give up his Mate in order for Stuart to get his and have his own fairy tale ending. Despite the lack of Dream for Stu the night before, it honestly seemed more likely that he'd have a happy ending than Stiles would.


	2. The Anniversary.

**_~*~FOUR YEARS LATER~*~_ **

The thing about Dreams is that they were ever-changing. Sure, there were some consistencies, some things that never differed. It was clearly always the same Mate and it was always sexual in nature. They were always in a nondescript field somewhere—at least that's what Stiles assumed, considering the grass he could feel itching against his bare skin that he'd eventually just stop feeling as his mind was overwhelming with other touch sensations. They were always naked—obviously. And he always woke up before he came or was knotted.

But some things changed, evolved over time. Stiles noted how his hair always remained the length it was in real life, keeping up with trims and when he grew it out. His own body changed with it, a growth spurt making him the same height as his Mate, allowing them to press together completely. Muscles he'd formed from lacrosse and cross-country also formed in the Dream version of himself, granted it was nothing compared to his Mate.

The alpha had packed on more muscle of his own, biceps getting bigger in Stiles' periphery and when he grabbed hold of them. Abs were more defined, pecs broader as they pressed against Stiles' back and his stomach. His frame felt wider, back muscles more defined as Stiles clung to him in the heat of the moment. A smooth jawline gradually changed to a rough whisker-covered one, scratching at the sensitive skin of his neck. 

But it was still the same alpha, Stiles knew it deep within his soul. It was the way his wolf was always at peace, the way they moved together like they knew each other, like they'd done this hundreds of times—which, in the Dreams, they had—the way his Mate's thumb always seemed to smooth along his jaw, his cheek, his bottom lip in a reverential manner, like Stiles was something precious and fragile and to be worshiped. And the few glimpses Stiles managed to get of his Mate proved that it was the same male. He saw the same tan skin, the same round shoulders, the same strong jawline—even when covered with scruff—the same sharp nose that ended at a point, like a blade. When he was on his back, he was able to look down and see those chiseled abs and flat pecs, could see dark hair trailing down from his navel, could see smooth skin and tan flesh.

But any time he tried to raised his head to meet his Mate in the eye, something would happen to block the action. His neck wouldn't work, his head would be too heavy, his Mate would duck his head into the crook of his neck and essentially hide from him—although he wasn't quite sure if it was because his Mate actually _wanted_ to do that, considering the nibbles he'd feel on his collarbone and the huffs of air he'd feel against his skin as he was scented, or if some outside force controlling the Dream made him do it. And while Stiles knew that no one ever got a full glimpse of their Mate in their Dream, he still couldn't help the disappointment he felt or the aggravation at not getting his way.

He wondered what it was that his Mate saw of him, what body parts he was able to get a peek at. He wondered if his Mate knew how pale he was, how mole-covered, how lean. Surely, the alpha knew that he'd put on muscles of his own, could feel that his hair had gotten longer—since he sometimes felt fingers tangling in the strands as opposed to ghosting over his buzzcut—but what else? What clues did he have about Stiles' identity? What small hints had he obtained over the years in order to help him figure out who he was meant to be with? Just knowing it was a pale skinned, leaner-than-him male omega wasn't gonna be enough.

Or maybe it would. Who the hell knew how this crap worked?

The Dreams came with the same frequency, about once a month, meaning his Mate was close but not quite in the same town. It was another fact that was completely infuriating, knowing that his Mate was nearby but they still hadn't met. He hadn't been quite so desperate when he'd first started having the Dreams, knowing he was sixteen and not quite ready for that level of commitment. But after he'd turned eighteen, he felt like he was ready, like he was in the right place to find his Mate and begin a serious relationship, one that would culminate with a Mating Ceremony and a Claiming Bite on his neck.

But it didn't happen.

And while it was aggravating and upsetting to know his Mate was still out there and not currently with Stiles, at least he was still having the Dreams. Meaning his Mate hadn't died or anything. And he was only twenty. There was still plenty time for them to get together.

He hoped.

Not that it mattered at that moment, not when he had his Mate pressed against his back and driving his cock into him. The two laid side by side, soft grass tickling his buzzing skin and adding to the overwhelming sensations. A strong arm was draped over him, holding his leg up, elbow tucked into the back of his knee. Rough whiskers rubbed at the sensitive skin just below and behind his ear, causing him to cry out. He could hear the sound of his Mate's pants, hot breaths of air ghosting over his skin and driving him higher. He could hear the squelch of a cock sliding amongst his slick, the slap of their bodies as his Mate's groin pounded against his bare ass. He could hear small whimpers and loud groans when he squeezed against the hard length driving inside him, the warning growl when he tried to take over and make his Mate go faster, the alpha tightening his hold and keeping him in place before giving him exactly what he wanted.

But no words. Never any words. Stiles had tried it out, had tried asking what his Mate's name was, had tried making requests for more, don't stop, harder, faster, had tried just letting out swears at a particularly good thrust. And while he knew his mouth was moving and his tongue was forming the syllables and his voice box was vibrating against his throat, no words came out.

Annoying.

Really, it was kinda funny and ironic. The one time he was actually speechless was while he was being pounded, mated, claimed, and in mind-blowing fashion. He'd be vaguely aware of his lips moving as he tried to babble and ramble, knew in the back of his mind that he was trying to speak, but nothing ever came out. When he was awake, he was more aware of that fact, would laugh about it, would imagine his friends' reactions to him being unable to speak and their quips over how they wouldn't mind seeing him getting fucked because at least he'd be quiet for once and that it'd be worth the awkwardness.

But at that moment, all he could think about was how much he was dying to hear his Mate's voice, dying to get feedback. Was he just as good as the alpha? Was he pleasing him? Was he a good omega taking it like that?

It was just his omega nature, he knew it for a fact. Yet he couldn't help but want it, couldn't help but feel that overwhelming urge to be told how good he was at pleasing his alpha. And, _fuck_ , what he wouldn't give to hear his name being groaned out in the heat of the moment.

Wasn't gonna happen though. At least not in a Dream.

The thought was shoved from his head after a particularly good thrust, making his eyes go wide and his lips part as he cried out, the sound shaky and wavering but no less passionate for it. He dug his fingers into a thick forearm, feeling how tense the muscle was, the hair covering the limb, the veins protruding from the contracted muscles. He was honestly surprised he hadn't sprouted claws, that they were still sheathed, but really, it was only a matter of time. He could already feel his gums tingle where his fangs wanted to descend, could feel the rough catch and scratch of his Mate's sharp teeth as he ran them up the side of his neck, causing him to shiver and goosebumps to break out over his flesh.

His Mate pulled back, not stopping until the head caught on the rim, before quickly thrusting back inside. That was one thing Stiles could say for sure about the alpha: he never left him wanting or empty. The Dreams usually cut-in with the two of them side-by-side on the grass, the other man quickly rolling over and connecting their lips in a kiss that became more frenzied as time went on. And it was only a matter of seconds before Stiles was manhandled into position and filled up with a cock that was hard from the get-go—just like he was slick and stretched as soon as he became aware in this Dream Realm.

The retreat and return repeated over and over, hot puffs of air gusting down Stiles' sweat soaked spine, his Mate pressing his forehead to the base of his neck. A muscular torso was no longer pressed against his back and he imagined his alpha looking down the space between their bodies, watching himself continuously enter his omega, claiming him. He groaned, free hand stretching out and grasping at the soft grass, tugging it free from the soft ground. He felt the prick of his fangs digging into his bottom lip before parting them, gasping out an exhale as he struggled to keep the air in his lungs with the way he was being pounded from behind. Fucking hell, if Dream sex was this good, then real sex had to be beyond comprehension.

Unless he was being set up for disappointment.

No, no way. Fate had taken enough from him. It wouldn't deprive him of unbelievably amazing sex for the rest of his life, too.

A tugging was felt at his rim, the alpha now struggling to get his cock inside with each thrust in. Stiles relaxed his body, hitched his leg up higher to stretch his hole even more. His Mate's knot was pressing against him, growing, wanting in, wanting to lock them together as the alpha filled him up, marked him from the inside out.

Just the thought of it was enough to speed up his own orgasm, his balls drawing up tight to his body. He'd felt like he was on the verge the entire time, only for more space to be built past it, more room for him to be pushed further, the end always just out of his reach. But now it was _right there_ , just on the tip of his fingers, ready for him to grasp it, ready for him to be shoved over with a few more thrusts.

He felt the indent of sharp teeth on the crook of his neck, right over the soft area where it met his shoulder. His Mate's fangs were pressing against his skin, trying to break through the flesh, trying to mark him with a Claiming Bite, right where everyone could see it. Stiles' tilted his head to the side, fangs sinking into his bottom lip, lids sliding over his eyes in pleasure, body relaxed yet taut at the same time. Almost, so close, just a little bit more pressure...

Stiles came like he'd been electrocuted, hips thrusting up off his bed as his cock sprayed out ropes of come, painting his boxer-briefs. He gasped loudly as his eyes shot open, hands flying out and slapping against his otherwise empty bed, his next inhale a rough drag that burned the back of his throat. His entire being felt like it was trembling, from his skin to his lungs, his heart pounding erratically and out of control as he flew off the precipice.

Coming down from that high left him feeling strangely sated and dissatisfied at the same time. His wolf was pleased, rumbling contently in the background, clearly happy with the happenings of that night's Dream. But the human part of him was painfully aware that he was alone in that bed, that he'd come untouched and solely due to an erotic revery. Fuck. Pathetic really.

Laying there, he stared at his ceiling, vaguely aware that his room was lit up with the early morning sun. His chest was still heaving as his lungs struggled to regain a normal breathing pattern, his heart still pounding from everything, but his chest still felt empty and hollow. Christ, how many of those had he had by that point? Too many really. The whole thing was starting to grow old.

Once he'd regained a sense of normalcy, he sat up, swinging his legs onto the floor. A groan escaped him as he roughed his hands over his face repeatedly, before shoving them through his messy hair. He was sure it was covered in cowlicks, the brown strands doing their own thing no matter how much effort he put into styling them. Stu had always seemed to have a better handle on how to tame the locks. Then again, he probably just naturally had better hair. Guy had better everything.

With a sigh, Stiles slid open his nightstand drawer and pulled out the marble notebook he kept inside. A pen was clipped to the page he needed, making it easy to find the first blank one. The former sheets were all previously filled with his all-caps scribbled notes, details of the last Dream, clues he could use to figure out who his Mate was. He'd always loved a good mystery and the literal man of his dreams was a damn good one.

Scanning the notes about the previous Dream left him feeling hollow and alone again, free hand absently rubbing the center of his chest. _NOTHING NEW_ had been scrawled there and he didn't even need to flip back in order to know he'd been putting that for a while now. Another sigh left him as he scribbled that same note on the blank page before jotting the date in the top right corner.

That gave him pause.

He smeared a hand over his face as he stared at the date, skin tingling all over, chest tightening even more. The day after his birthday was a strange anniversary of sorts for him now. Four years to the day since his first Dream. Two years to the day since his brother had disappeared.

Tossing the notebook on his bed, he raised his head, coming across the clear board he'd been using to try and find Stuart. Not that he had much to go on.

The day after his eighteenth birthday, Stiles had awoken with a strange sense of dread, worse than anything he'd ever felt before. A quick check of Stuart's room yielded no brother, no suitcase, and a whole lotta missing clothes. But his cell and laptop had been left behind, something that had further sparked that dread and turned it into fear.

A search by the sheriff's department—headed by their dad who'd shoved protocol aside and gotten involved in an investigation he was too emotionally invested in, taking advantage of his status as _the_ sheriff of Beacon County—proved fruitless, no evidence as to where Stuart may have gone. But a lack of body turning up had given Stiles the hope that his twin was okay and that there was the possibility of him returning safe and sound.

The first email arrived a week later, telling them not to look for him and that they were better off now that he was gone. No clues were truly found from that, the IP address from somewhere in Kansas. The sheriff hadn't even bothered trying to hide the info from Stiles, knowing he'd figure it out somehow anyway—possibly through not-so-legal means, but whatever.

It was the first thing to go up on Stiles' board, along with a timeline of Stuart's last known actions, who he'd been in contact with, where he'd gone. But none of that had been any sort of cause for alarm, everything perfectly ordinary. No suspicious activity had been found in his phone and internet logs, his emails were cleaned out and even a computer forensics team found nothing out of the norm. The guy had just vanished into thin air.

And he'd remained a ghost for another six months, when another email arrived—this time from an IP address in New York—announcing that he'd been Mated to a guy named Derek and that they didn't need to worry over him. He really should've known that was cause for their dad to become even _more_ worried, going so far as to use contacts with the FBI to try and find records of the Mating and any Derek in New York.

Another dead end.

Really, Stiles shouldn't be surprised by that fact. Stuart had a genius level IQ and if anyone was gonna manage disappearing to parts unknown, it would be him. It just hurt like hell that his own twin brother didn't trust him enough to tell him where he was going or why. He'd always thought they'd shared everything with each other. And it was pretty obvious that running away was something that Stuart had been planning for a while, yet never thought to clue Stiles in on, instead letting his younger brother be completely stunned by the turn of events, leaving him to be questioned by every authority figure possible because no one would believe that a guy would take off like that without telling his twin.

It was only the fact that his heart rate was steady and his dad vouching that he was, in fact, a terrible liar that caused anyone to believe him and let him go without charging him for aiding and/or abetting.

A heavy sigh left him, his entire body slumping with the action. His brother being gone felt like he was missing an intricate part of himself, like something had been taken from inside. He figured it was a twin thing, remembering legends of twins being one soul split into two bodies. Which was almost true really, if one replaced “soul” with “egg”, considering they were identical twins. Whatever. Didn't matter the reasons or explanations or what-the-fuck-ever. Stiles just knew that without his brother around, he felt...wrong.

He hoped Stuart was feeling just as shitty, if not worse, wherever he was. Guy deserved to feel like ass after what he'd put their family through. Wasn't bad enough that they'd lost the Stilinski matriarch, oh no. They had to lose one of the kids, too.

Rubbing his hand over his head repeatedly, he rose to his feet, shuffling around the board to his drawers, yanking the top one open and snatching a random pair of boxer-briefs and socks. Agitation replaced emptiness and upset, aggravation aimed in his missing brother's direction. Yeah, wherever Stuart was, Stiles hoped he was completely fucking miserable.

A glance over at the board showed the back of the print-outs of the emails, his eyes drawn to the backwards letters of the second one, the one announcing Stuart's Mating. Chances were he wasn't as miserable as Stiles wanted him to be. Chances were that he was happy and healthy and living in domestic bliss with that Derek guy as they built their happily ever after together. Chances were that the wish Stiles had made four years prior, the one where he'd flippantly decided to give up his own Mate so his brother could find happiness, had come true.

And while Stiles still wanted nothing more than for his twin to be happy and living a life full of love and joy, he just wasn't too thrilled that it had personally cost him so damn much.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stiles took a thorough shower, scrubbing himself down with scent-neutralizing soap.

The last thing anyone needed was to scent the come and slick and arousal that was surely clinging to him like the sweat that had soaked his skin. His emotions vacillated between anger and upset, both aimed his brother's direction, before he decided to completely shift his mental tangents to a more pleasurable one.

Meaning he started thinking about the Dream again.

Which didn't help brighten his mood all that long, considering the ache he felt in his chest at the knowledge that he still hadn't found his Mate. But Stuart had. A guy who claimed the whole thing was bullshit and only morons bought into Dreams and there was no such thing as a fated pair, he was now Mated and presumably living in Mated bliss.

'Course being Mated didn't mean he was with his actual _Mate_. Lots of Dream-less people Mated someone they weren't fated to be with. Scott's mom had done so with her now ex-husband, same with Lydia's split parents. And okay, so the few examples he had about it weren't exactly happy endings, but that didn't mean all of them ended in nasty divorces. There were people who lost their Mates who went on to have a long lasting, _happy_ Mating with someone else—something that Stiles would not so subtly remind his dad about, usually when also pointing out how much time the elder Stilinski was spending with Mama McCall.

Point was, maybe Stuart was still Dream-less and so was this Derek guy, and they'd fallen in love in a less traditional route. Would suck for either one of them if the other suddenly began Dreaming, but Stiles figured that was the risk one took when entering a Mate Bond with someone you weren't actually fated to be with.

Shower done and body clean and scent free, he got dressed in whatever clothes he'd hastily grabbed from his closet: khakis, black graphic tee with the _Agents of SHIELD_ alien writing on it, and a red plaid flannel, his usual go-to outfit. If anything of his would be considered a trademark, it would definitely be plaid overshirts.

Breakfast was a quick meal of Pop Tarts and coffee, barely tasting any of it and eaten more out of necessity than enjoyment. He'd hit a serious wall of depression after Stuart had left, long days spent in bed, struggling to work up the energy or desire to do anything but wallow. It wasn't until he'd gotten a thorough tongue lashing from Lydia that he finally dragged himself up and back into the world, motivated by a need to track Stu down and kick his ass for worrying them all with his moronic actions.

'Course that didn't mean he was entirely with it or back to being his normal self. Instead he'd thrown himself into the investigation—despite not being allowed to, since he was both a civilian and an omega—becoming consumed by an all-encompassing need to find his brother, forgetting to eat or sleep or bathe. Another intervention from Lydia—joined by his dad this time—snapped him out of that spiral, too.

The fact that he was finding nothing and the sheriffs department was declaring the trail lost and the case cold also helped.

Not that Stiles had completely given up. Every now and then on sleepless nights, he'd go back over his board, rereading the emails, checking the map he'd taped up, scrutinizing the timeline, all in the hopes that a refreshed mind would allow him to find something, _anything_ he'd previously missed.

But nothing ever changed there. 

He filled his morning with mindless chores, cleaning the house, tidying things up, throwing out expired food from the fridge and tossing his dad's stash of junk that he was still unsuccessful in hiding. Music played in the background, his mind and emotions unable to really settle on one thing, instead letting shuffle decide what to play for him. It was nothing special, nothing exciting, and exactly what he needed.

Until the house was spotless and he was bored and his mind was allowed to wander again.

Crap.

He found himself actually hating summer break and wishing he was back at Stanford. He'd have classes to go to, homework to finish, research to do. There'd be parties and club activities and friends and a million other ways to occupy his time and keep his mind focused elsewhere.

Not that he didn't have friends in Beacon Hills, because he did. But Scott was busy with work, Allison and Lydia were having a girls day shopping, Danny was practically glued to his recently found Mate, and Stiles' social circle apparently wasn't as big as he'd previously thought it was. That, or he'd just flat out lost touch with most of the people he'd hung out with in high school. Bound to happen really.

A glance at the clock told him it was nearly noon and an idea quickly formed in his head. Dashing upstairs, he slipped his feet into a pair of Vans and grabbed his keys, wallet, and phone before heading back down and out the front door. His powder blue Jeep started up on the first go—thank god—and he was soon pulling out the driveway and towards the diner on Main.

Beacon Hills was like any other small town in the country. It had its own school system, its own shops and mall, its own government buildings and law enforcement agencies. Security was more lax, though, since it was on the small side of things, home to not just the Alpha of the city, but of Beacon County—Natalie Martin. It was common knowledge that she was grooming her daughter Lydia to take over in her stead when she grew too old for the job, but Lydia had shown no interest in such a thing—despite a huge love of bossing people around and a commanding presence that belied her short stature—preferring instead to pursue a degree in mathematics with the goal of winning a Field's Medal for solving the unsolvable. It was both impressive and intimidating and Stiles had often told her she should seriously follow in her mom's footsteps, that she'd excel at it, but every time he was met with green eyes being rolled so hard it had to hurt.

As he drove around the outskirts of town, he caught sight of the fifteen foot electrified wire fence that marked the perimeter of Beacon Hills, a security measure to ensure the safety of not only its lycanthropic residents, but the Alpha herself. Guards were positioned at the only two entrances to the town and IDs were always scanned and run through the system before anyone was allowed to pass the gates. It hadn't always been that way, the system put in place in the fifties when a vast amount of Alphas were slaughtered in their homes, their positions taken by power-hungry zealots who started fights with other towns in order to claim their territory. The federal government then established a new branch to handle any wolves who broke newly established laws set to protect Alphas and their families, as well as civilian wolves and their Mates, and more security measures were put in place to protect the towns themselves.

Stiles had learned all about it in school, about how some towns only had a single Alpha in charge of that city and didn't have fences like Beacon Hills, about the hierarchy of Alphas with one in charge of a town, then one in charge of each county, then one in charge of each state, then the Alpha in charge of the entire country. He was glad he lived in a middle-of-the-road kind of place, that he was free to come and go as he pleased, making it easy to attend college in a different county—granted it took a whole lotta paperwork and political bullshit since Palo Alto was a bigger city with more security and he was a lowly omega.

But despite the higher security and the sturdier city walls and the increased difficulty entering and leaving, Palo Alto was still easy to commute to and from when compared to other places. He thought of Oak Creek, the city where the Alpha of the state resided, of stories he'd heard about multiple walls and security check-points, about extensive background checks and long interview processes, of how it was practically impossible to enter the place without permission given weeks in advance. Made sense, yeah, to protect the wolf in charge of everyone living in the state, but sometimes Stiles thought it was a bit ridiculous and over the top.

Not that he said any of that out loud. Criticizing the heavily guarded city would be misconstrued as him whining about being unable to get to the Alpha and harm her in some way. Which he obviously didn't wanna do. He was perfectly happy with the way things were laid out and how the system worked. And from what he'd heard from everyone who'd ever interacted with the California Alpha herself, she was pretty much perfect at her job: firm but willing to see another's point of view, caring but not a bleeding heart, giving but not a pushover, harsh but fair and reasonable. Her job wasn't an easy one, but she did it with grace and poise with zero complaints from any wolf living under her jurisdiction.

He shoved aside thoughts of Alphas and walls when he pulled into the diner parking lot, not wasting any time in finding a spot and shutting the engine down. Entering the diner, he felt eyes on him as he approached the counter, trying his best to ignore them as he placed a to-go order. But his anxiety still got the best of him and he sat hunched over at the counter, hand wringing the back of his neck. Try as he might, snippets of conversation reached his ears, people leaning over to their dining companion to point out how that was the sheriff's kid over there, how that was the kid who'd lost his mom at a young age, how that was the kid whose twin brother had run away.

The last factoid was the one that most people seemed to harp on the most, rumors having swirled since it was made clear that nothing bad had happened to Stuart, that he'd _chosen_ to leave. People would gossip over their own reasons why, ranging from the romantic belief that Stuart had run off to be with his Mate to the fucked-up belief that their dad had been abusing him. When it was pointed out that the latter reason couldn't be true because otherwise Stiles wouldn't have stuck around, the story grew to include threats sent the younger twin's way, that if he tried to leave, too, he'd be hunted down and killed like an animal.

That had been the most damning of them all, the one that inflicted the most pain upon the meager remains of their family. Stiles would lash out at anyone claiming such bullshit, only to be met with sympathetic eyes from bored housewives who'd tell him it was okay and that it was unfortunately typical for omegas left under the care of a single alpha parent. His dad had told him to ignore it, that they knew the truth and that that was all that mattered, that in the eyes of the law, he'd done nothing wrong. But it wasn't enough for Stiles who wanted to prove his father's innocence and make everyone around him see that he really wasn't to blame for anything. Yet those fools bought into the gossip and stood firm in their “guilty until proven innocent” belief.

Assholes.

His order thankfully came quickly and he hastily paid, telling the cashier to just keep the change for herself. He refused to spend another second under those scrutinizing eyes, hearing those voices judging him and commenting on what a poor soul he was, trapped in that house with that ruthless alpha. Didn't matter that Stiles had actually been going to college in a different town, didn't matter that his alpha father was the sheriff of their county and was above reproach at his job, didn't matter that the County Alpha herself had elected John Stilinski to that very position. Hell, before Stuart's disappearance, gossip had been over what a shame it was that a good man like him wasn't the Alpha of their town and how it was his endorsement that had given Natalie Martin everyone's support in her new position.

“I heard that the mother had been telling everyone that someone was out to get her, but the father had the doctors and everyone else convinced that she was just crazy,” one last gossip-monger's voice reached his ears, followed by the judgmental “mm-mm-mm” of her friend. “Rumor has it her supposed car accident was just a cover-up for her murder. Guess the poor dear was right after all.”

Stiles yanked open the door with clawed fingers, eyes glowing gold as he stormed out the diner with his wolf snarling in his head.

Low. Fucking. Blow.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The Beacon County Sheriff's Department was located in what would be considered downtown Beacon Hills. And despite being within walking distance of the diner, Stiles still drove there in his Jeep, refusing to give himself any reason to return to that godforsaken place, even if it was to just pick up his car and drive home.

That being said, chances were he'd be back there in a few days, since they had the best curly fries in all of Northern California. Or at least out of Beacon Hills and Palo Alto both.

Stiles arrived at a good time, the station in a lull of sorts. Deputy Graeme waved at him from her station at the front desk while speaking to someone on the phone, only one other line lit up. A couple random deputies were at their desks, chatting away as they typed up reports. He could hear the sounds of another in the back area, locking someone in a cell and promising them they'll get their phone call later on.

His dad was alone in his office, signaling Stiles to enter with a wave of the arm as he gave a few placating “uh huh”s down the phone line. The younger Stilinski did as he was told, closing the door behind himself to alert others that the sheriff was gonna be busy for a while and to only burst in if it was an emergency. Standing on the opposite side of the desk, he placed the plastic bag of food and his soda on the wooden furniture, trying to be subtle as he focused his hearing on the phone and what the person on the other end of the line was saying.

“I gotta go. My kid's here and chances are he's tryna spy on our conversation,” his dad correctly assumed, cocking an eyebrow at his son, blue eyes wordlessly saying that he knew exactly what Stiles was up to and that nothing got past him. There was a reason why Alpha Martin had made him sheriff.

Stiles mouthed an elongated “boo”, getting a hand wave of dismissal in return, before focusing on pulling the styrofoam trays of food out the bag.

“Yeah, I'll call later and finalize the details,” his dad continued down the phone, nodding though the person couldn't see it. “Talk to you soon, Alpha.” With that, he hung up and gave his son an unimpressed look. “Glad that wasn't confidential information pertaining to a case.”

The younger man snorted, placing his dad's meal in front of him, plastic wrapped set of disposable cutlery on top. “Like that's stopped me before,” he pointed out with a look before sinking down onto his seat, sipping from his coke.

A bob of the eyebrows and a tilt of the head was the sheriff's concession that he made a good argument, sweeping the cutlery to the side before opening up his styrofoam container and revealing the salad that'd been purchased on his behalf. Stiles prepared himself for a fight, readied his arguments for the healthy lunch and not the cheeseburger and curly fries he'd gotten for himself, only to have no objections sent his way. Weird.

His brow furrowed in confusion, the puzzlement growing as his dad poured low-fat dressing over his salad without complaint. Sniffing the air, he caught the scents of worry and apprehension, the emotions having nothing to do with any sort of reluctance to eat his lunch, especially not given the way he shoveled a giant forkful of veggies into his mouth.

“Hey, Dad?” Stiles began lowly, reluctantly, clearing his throat of the rasp his voice held. “Everything okay?” When his dad didn't answer, just raised his eyebrows in question, he went on, his knee slightly shaking. “You didn't complain about not getting a burger or fries.”

The sheriff looked down at his meal, eyes widening like he'd only just become aware of what it was he was eating. He shrugged his shoulders in dismissal and nonchalance as he raised his head back up, scent remaining the same. “Got a lot more on my mind than whatever crap it is you're tryna get me to eat,” he stated bluntly before shoving more of his salad in his mouth.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips as his eyes flicked up above his dad's head. On the wall behind his desk was a case board, a lot like Stiles' back home. Only this one was on cork and featured pins and red string, rather than on glass with thin red tape connecting items. But the Missing Persons sign was exactly the same, as were the copies of the emails and phone records, as was the fact that the sheriff's department had no clue where Stuart Stilinski had disappeared to.

His wolf whimpered in the back of his mind, a lump forming in his throat. The earlier tightness in his chest came back, that same hollow, empty feeling he got whenever he thought about his missing twin. Glancing down at his food, he found he no longer wanted to eat any of it, despite having craved those curly fries for a week straight.

Sensing the shift in mood, the sheriff peeked behind himself, his own scent becoming salty with upset. He swallowed hard as he turned back to his remaining son, nodding absently as he reached for his coffee mug, gripping it around the top rather than the handle. “I know what today is,” he murmured, acting afraid to speak any louder, like Stiles would fall apart if he did.

And it wouldn't be the first time talk of Stuart had caused a meltdown in the younger twin. The initial few months of him being gone saw Stiles screaming himself awake at nightmares of horrible things happening to his twin, of him falling to his knees and crying out in anguish because some random online friend had posted on Stu's Facebook wall or mentioned him in a tweet, of him bawling alone in the bathroom because someone had brought Stu's name up in conversation. His dad had bore the brunt of it all, had been the one forced to comfort his son when he was busy worrying over the other and missing him, too. It further disproved all that bullshit over the sheriff being abusive, given the way he held his eighteen year old kid after having a bad dream as though he was a small child or the way he handed over tissues and gave massive bear hugs as his uniform shirt was covered in snot and tears, taking it all without complaint or instructions for his son to be a man and get over it.

“But believe it or not,” his dad continued in the same low voice. “That wasn't what I was referring to.”

Stiles frowned in confusion, closing the lid on his food, appetite gone. He sometimes forgot that not everyone was as obsessed with finding Stuart as he was, that despite the sheriff being the missing person's father, he wasn't as emotionally invested. He figured it was just another twin thing, that because he felt like he was missing such a huge important piece of himself, he was more determined to find it. No matter the reason, he still spent the most time trying to solve the case, even after the department had closed it. To that day, he still found it strange to see people going about their everyday lives like nothing happened, like an eighteen year old hadn't just up and vanished. He had no clue how people could just... _be_ after having dedicated weeks to searching for any clues or trails. But they had, and they were. Locals no longer offered condolences to the Stilinskis or asked if there was anything they could do. Wolves from other towns had headed back home, their services no longer needed and their minds no longer thinking about the kid they'd been searching for. Life went on for all of them, while Stiles was still stuck in place, despite having left for college, despite having spent more time outside of his small town than in it during the past two years.

He sometimes wondered if he was stuck because he didn't _want_ to move on, that going about his life like nothing was amiss was admitting there was no hope of Stu returning and that acting like all was well was like saying he'd died. Until proven otherwise, Stiles was gonna continue to act like his brother was alive and well and coming back home.

Leaning back in the chair, Stiles fiddled with his fingers as they lay loosely clasped on his lap, right leg bouncing up and down. “So what's going on?” he questioned, almost afraid of the answer. Because if it was a bigger deal than the anniversary of his son's disappearance, then it had to be majorly fucking bad.

His dad bit down on a slice of cucumber, wiping his hands on a napkin as he chewed thoughtfully. Stiles' apprehension grew with each passing second, worrying over the reasons why his dad would be stalling, his mind racing with a million possible items of bad news. Another missing person. Talk of someone trying to enter the city illegally. More rumors about his dad and another investigation into his personal life, followed by another impeachment hearing.

His eyes flicked to the phone, remembering that he'd been talking to Alpha Martin when he'd walked in. Maybe there were threats against her. Maybe Lydia was in danger. Maybe she was already hurt and laid up in a hospital and Stiles was gonna lose one of his best friends just like he'd lost his brother and—

“Stiles!”

His dad's voice snapped him out of the anxiety spiral he was falling down, cutting off his negative thoughts as they grew darker and increasingly morbid. He realized he was breathing heavier than usual, taking a large, shaky inhale to try and calm his fraying nerves. His dad hadn't actually said anything was wrong, hadn't said anything bad was happening. He was just jumping to conclusions like he always did, overthinking and taking things to the extreme.

“Sorry,” he muttered, wringing the back of his neck before dropping his hand onto his lap. He tried for nonchalance and to act like everything was cool, that he was cool, all was cool. But more than likely, he failed. He wasn't the best at covering shit like that up, not to mention his dad could always see right through him. Like at that instant, when the sheriff was staring at him with raised eyebrows and a look that said he knew _exactly_ what Stiles was trying to pull at that moment in time.

Shit.

“Right,” his dad commented, bobbing his eyebrows in dismissal before shuffling in his seat in an effort to get comfy. “Anyway, that was Alpha Martin on the phone—which I'm sure you already knew,” he added with a pointed look before continuing. “She's been called to a Meeting with all the other County Alphas down in LA and she wants me to accompany her for security.”

Stiles slowly nodded once, licking his lips as he let it all sink in and felt his body relax with the knowledge that it wasn't actually anything bad. His dad was going outta town for a few days, a week at most. Wouldn't be the first time that happened and it most likely wouldn't be the last. Definitely not a big deal and definitely not worth a panic attack in the middle of the sheriff's station.

The elder male's words fully sunk in, causing Stiles' brow to furrow in confusion once more, eyes narrowing analytically as he tilted his head slightly at his dad. “Wait, LA? Why not Oak Creek?”

His dad shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head with a wry grin as he gestured helplessly. “I dunno, Kid. I just go where I'm told, just like everyone else.” Picking up his fork, he stabbed at his salad, gathering more lettuce and cheese. “But I told her I'd think about it, since it would leave the city without an Alpha or a sheriff.”

He nodded in a combination of agreement and thought, chewing a hangnail at the side of his thumb. “And it's _all_ the Alphas in the state? Not just region wise?”

“From what I understand, yeah.”

More nodding as he mulled it over, finding the whole thing highly suspicious. It wasn't unheard of for Alpha Meetings to be held, but usually it was in a regional basis. His dad had gone with Alpha Martin to countless ones over the years, always held in the Bay Area, always featuring the Northern County Alphas. And sometimes the California Alpha, Alpha Talia Hale, would make trips to visit individual counties, to check in with Alphas and discuss any issues, help solve any problems. It was more rare and Stiles only had a blurry memory of seeing Alpha Hale in Beacon Hills when he and Stuart were about six or so, their mom holding on to each of their shoulders during the procession of cars that led her to City Hall to meet with their Alpha at the time.

But for all fifty-eight County Alphas to go to one place at the same time...it was pretty much unheard of. Not to mention risky as hell. There had to be something major going on, something bad, something terrible brewing on the horizon to the point where bringing everyone together was the only option. Maybe another rebellion was building up, more alphas not happy with their rank, not happy with the way things were being run. Maybe the Meeting was a warning, an investigation, a secret Hearing to pass judgment on those who've been suspected of conspiring against any—or possibly all—Alphas.

“Oh, no,” his dad commented, shaking his head before pointing a finger in warning at his son. “You are _not_ getting involved.”

Stiles bolted upright, legs kicking out with the sudden movement. His mouth hung open as he stuttered out a few offended noises he was pretty sure were meant to be words, hands held out in front of himself in a “what the fuck?” gesture. Sure, he might have been considering a way to finagle some info out his dad and conduct his own investigation, but the old man didn't need to point it out. It was pretty rude of him to accuse his remaining son of such treachery and sully his good name like that.

The sheriff gave him a completely unimpressed look, lips twisted to the side, eyebrow cocked. “You're not foolin' me, Kid,” he stated, stabbing at his salad. “I know you and I know what you're like, always snooping where you're not supposed to, especially when it comes to criminal investigations. You're a nosy li'l punk like that.”

He scoffed, trying once more to look offended and hurt. “Ouch, Dad. I like to think I've helped you out over the years though,” he argued, grinning proudly, fingers interlocked on his lap.

His dad rolled his eyes. “Helped me into an early grave, sure.”

“I bought you a salad.”

“Probably to make up for all the shenanigans you, Scott, and Stu pulled over the years.”

The mention of his brother's name killed the mood in the room and brought back that earlier emptiness and the lump in his throat. He swallowed hard as he turned away, hand in front of his mouth, elbow on the arm of the chair, knee bouncing up and down more vigorously as he tried to cover up the fact that a sore spot had been hit and he was trying not to cry.

Two years later and it still wasn't any easier to hear his name out loud.

His dad sighed, dropping his plastic fork into the empty styrofoam tray before steepling his fingers in front of his face. “Aw, hell, Kid. I didn't mean to upset ya,” he confessed lowly, gently. “But you and I both know you have a knack for sticking your snout where it doesn't belong.”

Stiles nodded, conceding the point. But it couldn't be helped. Mysteries had always intrigued him, had always captured his attention and managed to be the one thing that actually held his short attention span for longer than five minutes. Wasn't his fault that his dad just happened to be the chief law enforcement agent in the county and his kids visited him at work a lot and just _happened_ to catch sight of an open file for whatever case someone was working on.

“Come on, Dad,” he pleaded, voice low as he leaned forward in his chair. “You gotta admit it's a little suspicious. _All_ the County Alphas being gathered at _one time_. It's never happened before.”

The sheriff bobbed his eyebrows, silently confessing that his son had a point. He gestured with an open hand as he shrugged and shook his head, lips parted as he struggled to respond. “I'll admit it's strange, yes, but there's not really anything I can do about it.”

“You could look into it,” Stiles pointed out, flailing an arm for emphasis. “You could ask around, talk to someone close to Alpha Hale, find out what's _really_ going on.”

A humorless laugh left the older man, a wry grin on his face. “Right, sure. Because I'm sure I'll get the truth out of people if I ask nicely.” He held a hand up when the omega opened his mouth to argue further, effectively silencing him. “If I see anything sketchy, I'll get myself and Alpha Martin out immediately. But until otherwise, I'm gonna act like everything is copacetic and do as I'm told. Which is what you should be doing.”

Stiles opened his mouth to argue more, only to be cut off again, this time by his phone buzzing in his pocket. Slipping it out, he found a new text from Lydia, alerting him to the fact that her girl's day had been cut short and she was dropping Allison off before heading straight to his house. He sent back a quick message to let her know he'd be there in a few himself, knowing better than to talk her out of it. Alpha or not, the girl was a force to be reckoned with and he'd long since learned his lesson when it came to changing her mind or going against her wishes.

“I gotta head home and meet up with Lydia,” he murmured, not entirely thrilled to have their conversation draw to a close. He wanted to stay, to further argue with his dad, to get him to see his way and agree with him that, yeah, the entire thing was more than a little weird and definitely worth looking into. He knew he could eventually wear the old man down and gain permission to do some investigating of his own, if for no other reason than to get his kid to just shut up.

Just sucked he wasn't gonna get the chance to try.

“Alright,” his dad replied as he rose to his feet, Stiles mimicking the action. The sheriff gathered his trash, depositing it in a can to the side of his desk while rounding the furniture, pulling his son into a tight hug. “I meant what I said,” he stated, pulling back enough to lock eyes, one hand cupping the back of his son's neck, the other on his shoulder. “Keep out of this. It's Alpha only business, and not only are you not an Alpha in rank, you aren't one in orientation.”

The reminder of his place in life was like a slap to the face and Stiles had to fight away a grimace. Instead, he turned his head to the side, lips twisting in annoyance, leg shaking in aggravation. Omegas weren't granted a whole lotta freedom, laws still fairly archaic when it came to treatment of them. Sure, some were helpful, and others had been added to help keep omegas safe, ones like abuse by Mates and an alpha raping an omega was no longer dismissed in court due to how good an omega smelled or the fact that they were in heat. But a lot of the restrictions put on them in the name of protection were just stupid, shit like what jobs they could or couldn't get or how they needed permission from their alpha to go to a different town—if not be escorted there by the alpha themselves. Stiles had filled out twice as much paperwork and forms as any other student wanting to attend Stanford, solely due to his orientation, and his omega-only dorm didn't allow alphas or even betas to enter the building at all.

Which was fine, since no one really came up to visit him—despite his friends all being of the other orientations—but he was still operating under the assumption that one day he'd meet his alpha Mate and he'd wanna show off his room, only to not be allowed to. They'd probably have to stay in a nearby hotel or some crap, while alpha students could bring whoever they wanted to their room to fuck for the night and dump the next morning.

Which was also a bunch of hypocritical bullshit. Alphas being able to bed whoever they wanted, but omegas who lost their virginity outside of a Mating were sluts and whores and ruined forever. The whole thing pissed Stiles off to no end.

The fact that it was all being rubbed in his face—and by his _dad_ of all people, who knew where Stiles stood on the whole thing—just made it hurt all the worse.

His dad clapped his shoulder twice, tight-lipped smile on his face, scent apologetic and slightly guilty. “Just go home, Kid. I'm sure Lydia is gonna wanna talk to you about her mom's upcoming trip.”

Stiles just nodded, forcing a small smile of his own on his face, before gathering up his uneaten lunch. Goodbyes and “I love you”s were exchanged, another hug given. And as the omega was held close by his one remaining family member, his eyes locked on to the photo of his missing twin. Stuart would've backed him up, would've helped him hack into this database, search through that file, done whatever needed to be done in order to get to the bottom of it.

Closing his eyes, Stiles fought back the tears that were blurring his vision, not even trying to hide the sorrow from his scent.


	3. The Message.

Lydia's car was already parked alongside his front lawn by the time he pulled into his driveway, the alpha herself grabbing the mail out the box. Her royal blue dress offset her pale skin, strawberry blonde hair halfway pulled back, nude pumps on her feet and make-up immaculate as always. She looked like she'd just stepped out of a fashion magazine and onto the Stilinski driveway, Chanel purse hanging off the crook of her elbow, mail in hand, hair swishing with each step she took.

“Where were you?” she asked by way of greeting, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss each of his cheeks before looking at him with an eyebrow raised in expectation, handing him the mail she'd just collected.

A small smile formed on his face as she took his offered arm and he led her to the front door, heels clicking against tar and concrete. “Brought lunch to my dad,” he explained, wiggling his styrofoam carton, mail balanced on top, for added emphasis.

Her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed, a face he'd come to recognize as her thinking face, delicate nostrils flaring slightly as she subtly scented him. He ignored the actions as they reached the front step, focusing instead on getting the right key into the deadbolt and opening the front door. He was well aware of what he'd smell like: depression, grief, aggravation, suspicion. He'd spent the entire drive back to his place mulling over the conversation he'd had with his dad, the Meeting of the County Alphas, the anniversary of his brother's disappearance, the reminder of his status as omega and how that meant he couldn't do jack shit about anything he wanted to do shit about.

Door unlocked, he led Lydia inside and to the kitchen at the back of the house, chucking the mail on the island counter then heading to the fridge to put his uneaten lunch inside. He heard the sounds of her placing her purse on the island and slipping her heels off, followed by her bare feet padding against the linoleum as she made her way to the coffee maker. She set about making a pot while he sorted through the mail, pretending not to notice how incredibly domestic the entire thing seemed and how it wasn't the first time they'd moved about that kitchen like an old Mated couple.

Strange to think that just a few years ago, he would've given his right nut for a scene like that. He'd had feelings for Lydia for as long as he could remember, celebrating the day he'd presented as an omega, because she'd already presented as an alpha and that had upped their chances of being together. Then came the crushing heartbreak the day after she'd turned sixteen and her pleased grin at the mention of her Dream the previous night, how that meant Stiles wasn't her Mate and their chances of being together had fallen to a big fat zero.

Not that he'd stood much of a chance with Jackson existing, but he'd always been an optimistic moron.

Jackson's departure had given him an opening though, Stiles able to sidle up beside her when she was short a partner in chemistry and over their junior year, they'd gotten to know each other pretty well and formed a damn solid friendship. With the two of them attending Stanford now, they'd only managed to get closer, to the point where several other students had asked when they were getting Mated. And while five years ago, that question would've made his heart pound and his stomach flip, now it made him snort and roll his eyes, likening the suggestion to Mating his sister.

He often wondered what exactly had brought about the change in his feelings, if it was caused by the realization that she wasn't the fantasy image he'd concocted of her, or if it was the literal man of his Dreams and the knowledge that his real Mate was out there and was male. Maybe a combination of both? Not that it really mattered. He loved his relationship with Lydia for what it was and wouldn't trade it for the world.

He just had to hope that his Mate would be okay with him being so close to two other alphas, not including his dad.

Then again, with his luck, his Mate might turn out to be a possessive prick who refused to allow Stiles to keep his friendships with other alphas out of some archaic territorial bullshit.

No. No way. Life had already taken his mom and his twin. It wouldn't fuck him over by giving him a shit Mate. It owed him at that point.

Although really, didn't bad things always come in threes?

Stiles shook the thought out of his head, focusing on the present moment and asking Lydia about her shopping trip with Allison, catching a whiff of annoyance as she scoffed.

“Fine. Until my mother called and told me the news.” She rolled her eyes as she turned and leaned back against the counter, arms folded under her chest, glossed lips twisted to the side. “I'm sure you heard all about it.”

He nodded as he ripped up the junk mail and tossed it in the recycling. “Yeah, my dad said your mom wanted him to go with her,” he informed her, letting his own irritability leak into his voice and his scent. “Whole thing is sketchy as hell if you ask me.”

“Agreed, but it's not like we can do anything about it.” She gave him a hard look at that, eyebrow cocked as though daring him to argue with her.

Unlike with his dad, Stiles knew there was no changing her mind when it was set, no wheedling her into something, no annoying her until he got his way. Her word was final and if anyone acted otherwise, she'd sharpen her claws with their bones.

“I just don't like it,” he admitted lowly, sinking down onto a stool and rubbing the back of his head. “The entire thing feels like a trap and my dad is just going into it like it's nothing when clearly something major is going on.”

Lydia shrugged, coffee maker rumbling behind her as it finished brewing a pot. She pushed away from the counter and grabbed mugs from the cupboard and set about making their drinks with the well-practiced ease of someone who had done it dozens of times before. Stiles knew he should get up and make the drinks for her, that she was a guest and he was the host and it was wrong to have her do all the work, but sometimes it was just easier to let her do whatever. And given the slight hint of anxiety that was leaking into her scent, chances were she wanted to make the drinks more than to be served, wanted something to busy her hands with and keep her mind occupied. She was clearly wary of their parents' upcoming trip as well but was playing it off as she always did, keeping up her perfected cultivated image of a strong, independent alpha.

“He's a grown man, an alpha,” she reminded him, back to him as she poured the dark and yummy into their mugs. “He clearly knows what he's doing. And I'm sure he's not going into it completely naïve and that his guard will be up more than usual.”

He hummed noncommittally, chewing a hangnail on his thumb, agreeing with what she was saying yet not fully comforted by her words. He knew his dad wasn't an idiot and was gonna approach it with the care and vigilance the situation called for. But even the most careful person could be caught unawares. How often did one hear stories of trained soldiers being ambushed in the Middle East, of Alphas being attacked at random, of law enforcement officials getting jumped while searching a building? Too freaking often, that's how.

His knee started bouncing beneath the counter's edge, dread and anxiety percolating inside and bubbling over, released with physical ticks and twitches. His wolf paced about inside his head, whimpering and whining, tail tucked between its legs as its mood directly reflected the human half's. Stiles honestly couldn't tell if it was his own gut intuition telling him something was wrong, or animal instinct sensing something was off with the Meeting. But either way, he felt completely on edge and his nerves were frayed to hell, mind racing with the every possible thing that could go wrong.

A mug of hot coffee was placed in front of him and he turned his head to give Lydia a small imitation of a thankful smile as she sat on his left. Wrapping his hands around it, he just held onto the mug, eyes glued to the image that was magically revealed by the hot liquid inside. The Imperial logo from _Star Wars_ formed in white on the black ceramic. His brother had the matching one with the Rebellion's symbol in red.

Smearing a hand over his face, he let out a sigh, swallowing hard. Fuck, he just couldn't lose his dad. Couldn't. Wouldn't. Refused to let it happen. As much as Scott was like a brother and Lydia a sister, his dad was his last remaining family member, the last member of the Stilinski Pack. If Stiles lost him, he'd be an omega in more than just one sense of the word, lost, Pack-less, alone.

“You're being paranoid,” Lydia stated in her own special blend of blunt and gentle, a soothing way to hit someone with the truth, like being smacked upside the head with a feather pillow covered in silk sheets.

He snorted, body rocking with the motion, hand held in front of his mouth. “Pretty much par for the course with me,” he deadpanned, dropping his hand and wrapping it around his mug once more, actually lifting it up this time.

“My mom says that Alpha Hale is attending the Meeting,” she went on, holding her own mug delicately between the fingers of both hands. It was the same mug she always used when having a hot drink at the Stilinskis', the first one she'd ever grabbed when visiting them: an old Marines mug of his dad's she claimed she was just _drawn to_. His dad didn't mind her using it, said it was better to get covered in lipstick than sit collecting dust in the cupboard, since he was partial to his cheesy “ _World's Greatest Dad_ ” one that he'd gotten when the twins were thirteen.

She took a sip of her coffee before continuing. “And we both know there's no way Alpha Hale would even _think_ of leaving Oak Creek unless it was one-hundred percent safe, not after that disaster over a decade ago.”

He bobbed his eyebrows as he saw her point. A huge attempt on not just Alpha Hale's life, but her entire family's, had been huge news when they were about seven. Granted none of the major details had come out, just the names of the individuals in the group that had done it and the ringleader, Kate Argent, currently serving multiple life sentences for several counts of attempted murder, one count of attempted murder of a State Alpha, multiple counts of homicide, one count of treason, and one count of inciting a riot. She was now in a maximum security prison on twenty-four hour lockdown with no contact with the outside world.

It seemed too easy for her, in Stiles' opinion at least. Wasn't like the chick was the tiniest bit remorseful, only sad that she hadn't finished the job, that she'd only gotten away with killing the Alpha's Mate and a few random citizens of the town. Well, maybe not _sad_ per se, since she didn't look capable of the emotion. Definitely pissed and vengeful though. Rumors had it that she wasn't quite all there in the head and that she'd actually plead insanity in order to escape the death penalty. She definitely looked like she had a few screws loose, had this crazy sort of look in her eye and this smile that just seemed... _off_.

Made him internally shudder just thinking about it.

Shaking it off, he focused on the conversation at hand, pushing aside any and all thoughts of crazy homicidal blondes. “Basically you're telling me that if the Alpha thinks it's safe, then _I_ should think it's safe,” he concluded, cocking an eyebrow as he turned his head to look at Lydia.

“Yup,” she replied, popping the “p” and grinning smugly behind her cup.

He breathed out a small laugh through his nose, turning away again and looking down at his coffee. She was right, as always. Not that he ever doubted her. Doubting Lydia's correctness about something was like doubting the color of the sky or the dampness of water. It was just moronic. And considering he'd graduated third in his class behind two certified geniuses, he clearly wasn't a moron.

“I'm just being paranoid again,” he stated, smearing a hand over his face once more.

She didn't argue, just nodded as she drank from her borrowed mug. “Well, it's you, so,” she trailed off and shrugged, letting the statement hang.

Not that he didn't already finish it in his head or anything.

“Subject change,” she declared as she placed her mug on the counter and folded her arms in front of her before turning her head to him and pinning him with hard green eyes. “My Fourth of July party coming up in a couple weeks.”

Stiles let out a long groan, eyes closing and head tilting up to the sky. It was true that Lydia Martin threw the best parties in Beacon Hills—rivaled only by her mom and the city-wide festivals she arranged for major holidays, Independence Day being one of them—but Stiles had learned the hard way just how much _work_ went into them. With Jackson gone, he'd become her errand boy, as well as the one who bore the brunt of her anger when things didn't go according to plan. Balloons the wrong shade of purple, napkins folded into squares rather than triangles, store brand raspberry juice purchased rather than some organic crap only found at specialty food shops he'd never set foot in and how it would completely ruin her famous fruit punch.

He didn't even try telling her that it was famous for getting people fucking _wasted_ thanks to the special blend of alcohol and wolfsbane she mixed in with it, rather than the taste of it or the fact that it was all organic juice made from fruits that were pesticide-free and grown with naturally made all-organic manure or whatever bullshit the bottle claimed.

“Don't give me that look,” she ordered as she smacked his chest with the back of her hand, making his eyes shoot open and a grimace to form on his face at her alpha strength. She rolled her eyes at his reaction, shaking her head in disapproval. “And don't act like that even hurt.”

He scowled at her as he rubbed the pec she'd hit, trying to ease the sting. He knew that being friends with her left him prone to random acts of violence and that her petite stature and doll-like features belied the true physical strength lying within her. It was why he never crossed her, why he always tried his best to remain on her good side and placate to her every need, regardless of how stupid or how bad he disagreed.

But still. That fucking _hurt_.

“You realize you're perpetuating the stereotype that all alphas are violent assholes who take advantage of their strength by beating up innocent omegas, right?” he questioned, only halfway joking.

Another eye roll was her response, pointing a clawed finger at him in warning. “And you're perpetuating the stereotype that all omegas are whiny little bitches, now shut up and do as I say.”

He rolled not just his eyes, but his entire head, still going along with exactly what she'd said and clamming up. Her claws were scary, polished or not.

She smiled happily, scent pleased, wiggling slightly as she sat up straighter on the stool. Her hands were delicately folded on top of the counter, like she hadn't just threatened him with a claw, perfect nude manicure on display. “Now, this year needs to be better than last year's so I've added a few things to your supply list, which you should've gotten in your email this morning by the way.”

His eyebrows went up, hand absently lowering his mug onto the island, cheeks puffed out with coffee. He swallowed it with an audible gulp, worry flooding his scent. He hadn't checked his email, or even looked at any texts until Lydia had sent him one while he was with his dad. Chances were his phone was full of people reaching out to him, reminding him they were there if he needed to talk.

It was like they only remembered Stuart was missing at specific dates: the anniversary of his disappearance, his shared birthday with his twin, Christmas, Thanksgiving, whenever they needed computer help of some form and Danny was unavailable. It pissed Stiles off more than he could explain, but he never called anyone out on it or told them it bothered him. He understood people had lives, that they had their own shit to deal with, shit that didn't include a then-eighteen-year-old who'd left home on his own without a word. And Stiles didn't wanna seem like a dick for bringing it up or point out that he was still upset about it. It would bring unwanted attention upon himself, would have him being treated even more like a fragile little omega who couldn't handle his feelings and that was the absolute last thing he wanted.

So he avoided his phone, avoided Scott's assurances that he was there if he wanted a distraction, avoided Allison's offers to talk if he needed. He was sure they all meant well and that his friends genuinely did care, but he just didn't wanna deal with random confessions of how much they missed Stuart and what a cool guy he was and let's share cool stories about him. Stiles got enough of that right after his brother had taken off and he didn't need more reminders over how Stuart was the better twin.

But avoiding all that meant he also hadn't seen Lydia's email and was now at risk of being the victim of her wrath. Again.

The female in question sighed in exasperation, body slumping like she just couldn't deal with his ridiculousness, despite the fact that he hadn't actually said or done anything. “Take your phone out,” she instructed gently, like she was dealing with a child or a skittish animal. “And check it now.” She raised her eyebrows in expectation, lips pursed in yet another visual sign of her disbelief at his behavior.

He nodded rapidly, sliding his phone out the pocket of his khakis and unlocking it. It was the work of seconds to open up his mail app and took even less time for him to stare down at it, completely stunned.

His entire body froze up in shock at the top email in his inbox, lungs stopping on a sharp inhale, heart ceasing its pumping action. His hands were in a white-knuckle grip around his smartphone, completely tensed up and trembling, though not from the way his fingers had been hit with a sudden case of rigormortis. It was a feeling he could only compare to having seen a ghost, to someone suddenly coming back from the dead, to the world suddenly deciding it was gonna flip on its head and turn everything upside-down and inside-out. It was shock, plain and simple, and it was leaking out every pore of him so much that he swore he could smell it on himself.

Lydia clearly sensed the change in him, one had to be born without a nose or eyes or any senses at all to not be able to notice it really. Shifting forward, she scanned his face, gentle hand resting on his shoulder. “What?” she whispered, flipping her sightline between him and his phone.

He tilted it so she could get a better view of the screen, free hand finally able to move, covering his mouth. Everything got blurry as his eyes filled with tears and he could feel himself shaking all over despite the numbness that was overwhelming him.

“The first email,” he choked out, feeling a tear roll down his cheek. “It's from Stu.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“I can read and write French, Spanish, Latin, Archaic Latin, and a little bit of Italian. I dabbled a bit in Gaelic and fooled around with Swedish once upon a time. I can recognize Hebrew, Sanskrit, and Russian, and thanks to you and your brother, I can recognize some Romulan. But _that_? I have _no idea_ what that's even _supposed_ to be.”

Stiles turned his head to peer at Lydia as they stood side-by-side in front of his glass case board in his bedroom. He knew what she was saying was honest and not bragging or talking herself up, just a simple statement of facts, but he was still impressed as hell. He'd been aware of her geniusness for years yet still found himself taken aback when reminded of it.

Rubbing under his nose, he stood with his arms folded over his chest, switching his focus back to the print-out of Stu's latest email. Because it was most definitely from Stuart—not that the email address didn't give that away, but those could be hacked, a trick Stu himself had shown Stiles on several occasions. But the content itself was something only Stuart would be able to type up and only Stiles would be able to understand.

He was just trying to figure out how to tell Lydia there was no way she'd ever be able to translate the gobbledygook on the paper without offending her. She already smelled agitated and her lips were twisting and jaw grinding in frustration as she repeatedly scanned the words.

“ _Wedan nodo alforty naem yayhoo reev nowon._ ”

“Seriously,” she rasped out. “What the hell?” She shook her head in disbelief, eyes wide as they flicked all over the page, taped under the two other emails from Stu.

Swallowing hard, Stiles spoke up. “It's uh. It's a language we made up when we were kids,” he explained, gesturing to the paper. “It says ' _Mates don't always mean happy ever after_ '.”

Saying the words out loud made the whole thing feel more real and tightened the knot that had formed in his stomach when he'd first read them. Dread was an overwhelming and oppressing emotion, numbing him all over and causing his stomach to roll around in nauseating waves. His wolf was pacing about once again, agitated, anxious, clearly sensing something was so very wrong. Not for the first time, Stiles wished tales of twins having psychic powers were true. He'd give anything to be able to connect with Stuart at that moment and find out what exactly was going on.

Sure, he could email back, but most of the time his mailings were returned with error messages stating the address didn't exist. The others were simply left unreplied to, if they were even opened and read in the first place.

Lydia's brow furrowed, lips pursed in a thoughtful pout. "What does that even mean?" she questioned, glancing up at him.

He gestured helplessly before wringing the back of his neck. He honestly wasn't entirely sure, hadn't even thought about it or anything past " _holy shit, Stu actually got in contact with me!_ " The message held no real clues, no real anything beyond a cryptic message regarding Mates that only Stuart seemed to understand.

" _Mates don't always mean happy ever after._ "

"Maybe it's a warning," Stiles suggested. "Like don't get your hopes up that finding your Mate will make everything okay." He wrapped it up with a shrug, not entirely sure if he was even close to the truth. Although really, knowing his brother and his stance on Mates and Dreams, he could've actually been right.

"Or it's a cry for help," Lydia murmured almost absently, taking two steps forward and tapping her finger on the email above the latest one.

Right on the word " _Mated_ ".

A chill spread all over Stiles, his stomach rolling even more. He'd been hoping his brother was just being his usual cynical self, but what Lydia had pointed out seemed like a very real, very definite possibility. And it scared the shit out of him.

Shuffling forward, he moved next to her, eyes locked onto the email. "You think his Mate is abusing him," he stated, rather than asked, knowing he'd hit the nail on the head with that one.

Licking her lips, she shrugged and shook her head, arms folded under her chest. "Definitely sounds like it."

He roughed his hands over his face, trying to scrub away the sick feeling, trying to get rid of the belief that something was very, incredibly wrong with his twin. His eyes scanned the second email, hoping for clues, hoping to find something he'd missed the first few dozen times he'd read it, hoping something would pop out of it now that he was rereading it with new eyes and a new take.

" _Quick email to let you guys know I just got Mated. His name is Derek and he's an amazing alpha who'll take care of me the way you'd want him to. You don't have to worry about me, I'll be fine. Derek will make sure of it._ "

"No," Stiles disagreed with her, shaking his head as he refolded his arms. "He said Derek was a good guy and would take care of him. That doesn't sound like an alpha who'd abuse his Mate."

Lydia rolled her eyes as she turned to him, lips twisted to the side in utter disbelief over his naivety. "Stiles. How many times have you seen an abused omega at the station? And how many times have they all said that their Mate started out sweet and nice and perfect, only to later become territorial and controlling and abusing?"

He swallowed hard, once again hating the fact that she was right. He'd honestly lost track of the number of times he'd come across what she'd just described, both at his dad's work and the hospital when visiting Scott's mom with him. Hell, it was just last week that he'd shown up at the station to bring his dad lunch, finding a meek female omega named Tracy with her arm in a cast and sling, face covered in claw marks and bruises. A bloodied bandage was on the left side of her neck, most likely from where her Mate had sank his teeth into his Claiming Bite and tore her skin up in a violent frenzy, and the sweatshirt and matching pants she wore both featured the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital logo, replacements for ones her Mate had most likely ripped up. In the back room, he could hear the snarling threats of her Mate Donovan, an alpha who'd been brought in several times for countless charges of omega and Mate abuse, as well as dozens of petty crimes, and she further cringed against the sound of his words as Deputy Clarke gently led her into an interview room.

He closed his eyes against the images, only to instead picture his twin bandaged and bruised, busted hand reaching out for help, split lip crying out in pain. His wolf howled loud and long inside his head, its heartbreak reflecting Stiles'. Fuck, just imagining it made him both nauseous with worry and violent with anger at whoever had hurt his brother, fake or not.

But it wasn't fake, not if Lydia's theory was right. And the more he thought about it, the more it seemed likely. Plus the fact that Lydia Martin was never wrong.

"I have a sick feeling in my stomach that you're right," he confessed lowly, shifting his arms so they were wrapped around himself, fingers clutching at the loose fabric of his flannel shirt. "He left for a reason, right? And the fact that he's only contacted us three times in two years means he's gotta be hiding from something."

"Or some _one_ ," she altered, arching an eyebrow at him momentarily. "I never believed any of that gossip crap about your dad hurting either one of you, but someone must have been."

He shook his head vehemently. "No, I would've smelled it on him. Scent-neutralizing soaps only go so far." He paused to scratch at his jawline, lips twisting as he thought back to the last few months he'd been around Stuart. He'd seemed off, sure, but Stiles had chalked that up to the pressure of senior year, finals they'd had to take and getting ready for college. It had taken a toll on everyone in their group, including the usual calm and collected Lydia and eternal sunshine Scott. Stuart smelling anxious and dread-filled fit in with everyone else's awful scents, making him match Stiles' even more than usual. And it seemed to go right along with the frantic way Stu had been running around, the way his cardigans seemed to be buttoned wrong and his beanies put on inside out and the bags under his eyes deepening and growing darker.

Shit, Stiles must have been really blind or really naïve to not have noticed something was really off with his brother. But he'd been caught up in his own anxiety whirlwind of a year, too busy dealing with his own shit in order to really look into his twin's. It'd been too easy to just accept his explanation of having been up all night cramming or not sleeping well due to nerves over this exam and that paper because Stiles had been going through the same thing.

And it wouldn't have been the first time they reflected one another's emotional state. He'd heard countless stories from countless people about him and his brother, about how Stuart randomly rushed outside because he felt his brother getting hurt falling off Scott's skateboard, about how Stiles had moped about when Stuart was upset over his goldfish dying, about how they'd both claimed to feel their twin's pain at some point or another. The mind-reading thing may have been a myth, but the two of them had always had a close connection that no one on the outside could ever understand or explain.

And Stiles honestly hated himself for not realizing his brother's anxiety and dread went beyond finals and graduation.

He muttered out a few choice words that definitely should never be said around a lady, smearing a hand over his mouth and jaw. Reading over the latest email, he felt a prickle in the back of his mind, an irritating itch he couldn't scratch. Something wasn't adding up, something was still missing—besides his brother.

"But if Stuart was running and hiding from this person who was possibly abusing him—or just threatening to abuse him—then why would he get Mated to his abuser?"

Lydia shrugged, lips pursed, eyes focused on the board. "Maybe he hadn't met his abuser yet," she suggested. "Some people believe you get a sense of who your Mate really is in the Soul Mate Dreams, a sense of their true nature. Maybe Stuart knew his Mate was violent and would hurt him so he tried running away from them, only to end up being found by them anyway."

"And he still Mated the guy?" he asked dubiously, eyebrow raised. There was no way someone as smart as his brother would do something that freaking dumb, especially when he'd been so anti-Mates beforehand. He wasn't the type to believe that true love could conquer all and that people could be changed if the right person helped them. He thought all of it was bullshit, scoffed at Disney movies, rolled his eyes at romance novels, boo-ed chick flicks. There wasn't a chance in hell that he'd enter a Mating with an abusive asshole with the belief that he could fix him and make him turn out good.

"Derek must've threatened Stu into Mating him," he concluded, thinking it was the only explanation that made sense.

"Or threatened you and your dad," Lydia argued, pointing to the first email. “' _Trust me, you guys are better off with me gone._ ' Sounds like he scared Stuart enough with promises to harm you guys that he figured his only option was to run away.”

Stiles scoffed, moving his hands to his hips. “Sounds like something _I'd_ do, not him.”

“People do stupid stuff when they're scared enough.”

He swallowed hard, the truth forming a hard lump in his throat that was making it hard to breathe. It had to be something incredibly bad in order to make Stu frightened enough to do something that incredibly stupid. No matter the case, there was only one thing he could do at a time like that.

Well, two, but telling his dad about this would just result in him being told to back off and let the professionals handle it. Which, no. At least not without doing a little digging of his own.

Turning around, he stepped away from the board, sliding his phone out his pocket as a plan formulated in his mind. “We need to call Danny.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

The stench of anger and frustration was thick in Stiles' room, nearly choking him with it. To be expected really, considering the three people in the room and the situation they were finding themselves in.

Danny was seated at Stiles' desk, his mega-awesome super-laptop—Stiles' words, not his—running some sort of scan, code scrolling so fast on the screen the omega could barely keep up. But super beta Danny Mahealani could and knew exactly what was going on, what to type and when. He was completely in the zone as he ran a tracing program that he'd made known he wasn't comfortable doing but had been coerced into it by Lydia reminding him that he still owed her about four favors for “ _that thing that happened in seventh grade and if you so much as_ think _of playing dumb and acting like you don't remember what I'm referring to—_ ”

She didn't even need to come up with a threat. Danny had gone wide eyed and immediately set to work, Stiles standing over his shoulder as he did so.

Lydia was now pacing back and forth across the room, casting furtive glances at the screen every time she passed it. Her bare feet padded across the carpet like a quiet metronome, loosely clenched fists tapping together in front of her chest in a nervous outlet, her head shaking every now and then. Stiles kept an eye on her, occasionally peeking over his shoulder at her, noting how the frustration in her scent grew worse as the minutes past. And while he was agitated and annoyed himself for how long it was taking—something Danny kept pointing out wasn't his fault and he just needed to be patient because it was a delicate process, especially if they didn't wanna be caught—he had a feeling her emotional state was for a different reason entirely.

She screwed her face up as she shook it once more, turning on a heel to face the two boys, stretching out her fingers in a frustrated gesture. “I still don't think this is a good idea,” she declared in a rush, knowing she needed to get the words out fast before she was argued with again.

It had been a rare moment of victory for Stiles to actually be able to talk her into his plan. The fact that she was constantly reminding him of her disapproval of it wasn't much of a surprise, but completely expected. She was always talking him out of idiotic ideas, whether for a class project or breaking into a file room to check out a hunch he had about some new kid he didn't quite trust—which, a lotta times, he actually turned out to be right and should be thanked really. And while he usually appreciated and loved her being his voice of reason and keeping his ass out of more trouble than he'd ordinarily be in, at that moment, he just didn't need it.

Striding over, he gently grasped her upper-arms, rubbing them as he met her green eyes with his whiskey ones. “We talked about this, remember? There's a reason why we asked Danny to do this for us,” he reminded her lowly, trying for some semblance of privacy and hoping the beta was too focused on his job in order to strain his hearing and listen in.

She licked her eyes as she glanced around the room in agitation, before glaring at him with hard eyes. “I still think we should take this to your dad,” she whispered harshly. “We should let the professionals handle this, the people whose jobs it is to analyze clues and use them to track missing persons.” Her eyes widened at the end as she gave him a pointed look, one he pretty much ignored.

Nodding, he took in her words and quickly dismissed them. She may have made a good point—okay, she _definitely_ made a good point—but there were a couple key factors that she wasn't mentioning, things that made it obvious that her idea wasn't the best one.

“Lyds, he sent the email to _me_ ,” he reminded her, pointing at his own chest. “He put it in a special language only _I_ could understand. And he's smart, okay? Really smart, so he could've put it in some other language and sent it to my dad like the others or to the sheriff's department if he was that serious about his claim being investigated, but he sent it _to me_. That has to mean something.”

She stared up at him with a hard look and pissy pout on her face, folding her arms over her chest. “Yeah. That his abusive Mate probably read all his emails and so Stu put it in some crazy language the guy couldn't read with Google Translate.”

“Doesn't explain why he sent it to me though,” he pointed out, dropping his arms to his sides.

“Because you're the only one who can read it,” she whispered back in a “duh” fashion, rolling her eyes as the cherry on top.

“Which my dad would know. And he'd show me the email had it gone to him or the department. But it hadn't, because it'd been sent to me.” He raised his eyebrows, daring her to argue, feeling slightly smug when she simply sighed and slumped, lips twisting in annoyance at her having been proven wrong. “Stu is a genius. He's probably four, five, six steps ahead of us in this, which means he's thought up every possible option that he had and went with the one that ended with that message in my inbox.” He gestured to the case board before running a hand through his hair and sighing. He knew what he was saying was right, was the truth. Everything had been done on purpose and for a reason. He just needed to get Lydia to see that.

“I know my brother,” he went on, rubbing at the back of his neck. “And he knows me and he knows that there's no way I'd sleep until I figure out _exactly_ what that message meant and where he is and how the hell to save him, because he'd do the same for me.” A fierce determination the likes of which Stiles had never felt before had taken over, powering his every word, his every thought. More than ever he was set firm in his resolve to find his brother and bring him back home—in one piece. His mission was more important than it had been in light of recent events and given the sheriff department's failure to find so much as a trace of a trail, he wasn't giving them another chance to screw everything up.

Lydia sighed, shoulders slumping more and arms dropping completely, the fight leaving her. She fluffed her hair, flipping it over her shoulder, while she pressed her lips into a hard line and looked around the room. Her scent shifted to something more melancholic, apologetic, yet still irritated with the fact that she wasn't getting her way.

“I still don't like this,” she whispered harshly, locking hard eyes onto his before turning and marching to the other side of the room to stand behind Danny.

Stiles remained where he was, hands on his hips as he hung his head. Strange how winning an argument could still make him feel like he'd lost. But that was Lydia.

Whatever. She could be pissy and pouty and mentally throw a hissy fit. He wasn't changing his mind, wasn't backing down. He knew what he—what _they_ were doing was right and was the most likely way to produce any sort of results. The sheriff's department had their hands full with god knew what other crimes—as well as Alpha Martin's upcoming trip to the County Alphas Meeting—and wouldn't have time or be bothered to deal with a cold case. Chances were they'd roll their eyes at the email, chalk it up as an overreaction or tell Stiles he was misinterpreting the message and the meaning of the words. An unhappy Mating didn't mean abuse or danger, just that fate maybe got one wrong.

Not that he believed that bullshit, but some folks did.

Deputy Haigh was one of them, but he was a Dream-less beta asshole with delusions of being an alpha and being someone important so what the fuck did he know?

Danny's computer beeped from behind Stiles and he quickly whipped around, dropping his hand from where he'd been chewing on his hangnail again. Lydia was leaning over the back of his chair, lips parted as she stared at the screen, smile slowly forming on her face before her green eyes flicked over to Stiles. He scented the joy in the air as he gasped an inhale, lungs and heart freezing as he felt hope swell inside his chest.

“You found something, didn't you?” he asked shakily, swallowing hard, almost afraid of the answer. He hadn't really given much thought to his plan beyond getting Danny to track the IP address the email came from and then bringing Stuart back home—assuming he even _wanted_ to, but Stiles was going on the assumption that his email was a message for someone to go rescue him. What he was supposed to do for the steps between tracking the IP address and bringing Stu home were unknown and frankly, a little scary.

Danny turned to him with a grimaced sort of smile, dimple displayed on one tan cheek, broad shoulder being shrugged. “It's not a city. There's something blocking me from getting that info.” He rubbed the back of his neck then gestured to the screen. “But I got you the state.”

His wolf yowled in his head in victory, his heart pounding as he strode over, damn near colliding with the back of the chair in his haste to see the screen. And there it was, right before his eyes. The map of the state, a grid of longitude and latitude, a box with the state name pointing to it and telling them where to start.

“California,” he murmured, lips twitching up at the corner.

Lydia turned her head to him, smile now gone and replaced with a hard look, her own dimples formed at the edges of her full lips. “ _Now_ can we take this to your dad?”

He met her eyes, seeing the way she was pleading with him to agree, not for the sake of vanity or her ego or because she was Lydia fucking Martin and no one disagreed with her, but because she felt it was the right thing to do. And while Stiles had been adamant that they handle the whole thing by themselves, he was changing his mind, solely due to the fact that their task had gotten a whole lot bigger. Finding Stuart in one city would be hard enough, even with his group of friends helping him out. But an entire state would be nearly impossible, not without a whole lot more numbers and every person in a uniform on alert to look for the guy.

“Yeah,” he agreed lowly, voice harsher than before with added anxiety and an overwhelming amount of emotions. They finally had a bead on his brother and he was in the same freaking state. And with the dread invoked by that cryptic email, they didn't have a single moment to lose in narrowing down Stuart's exact location.


	4. The Plan.

The sheriff had this one face that Stiles had come to know and recognize over the years. It was a wordless way of saying that he knew his son was most likely telling the truth—or the truth as he believed it to be, given the steady heartbeat and the lack of guilty scent—but he wasn't buying any of it. His brow was pulled into a hard frown, eyes narrowed and deepening the wrinkles framing the blue orbs, lips parted and pulled down, displaying his bottom teeth. His scent was a mix of confused, suspicious, dubious, and curious—most likely at how he was able to produce such a strange progeny and which side of the family his kid's more eccentric qualities came from.

Stiles just simply stared back at his old man as he stood on the opposite side of his desk in his office. His own eyes were narrowed analytically, lips pressed into a hard line. The fingers of his right hand drummed against the clenched ones of his left as they rested in front of his chest, leg shaking in nerves. Anxiety over his father's response grew with each passing second, worry over exactly what his reaction would be to the email print-out he and Lydia had handed him only minutes before.

Standing in front of his swivel chair, his dad looked back down at the paper in question, confused face remaining as he reread the words in his head then out loud. “ _Wedan nodo alforty—_ ” He gave up with a huff, dropping his arms to his side with force, wrinkling the paper. “For Christ's sakes, what in the hell am I reading, Stiles?”

The mentioned male scratched the back of his head with a finger before gesturing to his dad with that same hand. “It's an email from Stu,” he stated plainly, moving his hands to his hips, sweeping his flannel shirt back with the motion.

The look on his dad's face showed that he was completely unamused with his kid's answer and his bullshit. “Well, I got that from the sent address,” he ground out, flicking a hand on the paper. “What I'm asking is what the hell is the message itself.”

“' _Mates don't always mean happy ever after_ ',” he translated for the second time that day, ignoring the way it made his wolf whimper, wrapping his arms around his torso in an attempt to ward off the chill it gave him. A phrase like that was nothing but foreboding and the sense of dread he'd gotten when he first read it hadn't lessened or disappeared the more he repeated it. “It's in the language we made up when we were kids.”

His dad rolled his eyes at that and muttered, “never did understand that.”

“Yeah, well, you weren't supposed to. That's the whole point of a secret language,” Stiles pointed out, unfolding his arms to gesticulate in his usual manner.

He got another one of those “I am so done with your shit, son” looks in response.

Totally expected really.

The sheriff let out a sigh, peering down at the email once more. “So Stuart sent you— _just you_ —a secret coded email about Mates and what? You want me to put it in the box with all the other useless pieces of so-called evidence that're taking up space and collecting dust in lock-up?” His voice was hard, tone snarky, but Stiles knew it was all an act. He could scent the grief and frustration rolling off his old man, knew the toughness and sarcasm were a cover to mask his own upset. Losing a kid was never easy. Losing a kid who'd run off and you still can't find him, despite it being your profession to solve cases, it was probably the hardest damn thing anyone could do.

Stiles swallowed hard under the weight of his dad's emotions, barely aware of the comforting touch Lydia was rubbing between his shoulder blades. His mind flashed with memories of his dad drunk and crying, blaming himself for his missing son still not being returned home, calling himself a failure as a law enforcement agent, as a sheriff, as a dad, as an alpha, as _everything_ , all because he couldn't find a single solid lead. More than once Stiles had had to take the bottle of wolfsbane laced whiskey away and cart his dad off to bed, tuck him in and reassure him that he wasn't a failure, that he still had Stiles, that they were a team and they'd solve the case together.

It was another reason why he was so damned determined to track his brother down and haul him back home. Not just because he missed him and felt like a huge part of him was gone, but because their dad needed him home, too.

“No,” he rasped, clearing his throat before stepping closer, Lydia's hand dropping from his back. “We had someone track the IP address—”

“By someone you mean Danny Mahealani,” the sheriff interrupted, tone brokering no argument.

At least no argument from anyone sane and normal and without a habit of doing stupid shit just because it seemed like a good idea at that very second.

Stiles stood stunned and frozen for a moment, lips parted before he even spoke. “Anonymous source.”

“Named Danny Mahealani.”

He shook his head and gestured with his arms out to his sides. “Anonymous, Dad. How should I know?” he plead innocent, plowing on despite his dad's eye roll and increased frustrated scent. Leaning over the desk, he stabbed his finger at the paper in his dad's hand, drawing his attention to it. “Look, the IP address is from somewhere in California. He's in the same state as us. We could gather resources and manpower and—”

“And what?” the sheriff interrupted again, just as dubious as he had been in the beginning. “Send them on a wild goose chase all over the state in the _hope_ that my computer genius son didn't somehow manipulate the IP address and made it _seem_ like he's in California, when really, he's in Alaska with his Mate and a team of sled dogs?”

Stiles furrowed his brow at that, rapidly shaking his head as he held his hands out in front of him. “Well, no, Dad. Stuart can't stand the snow. We omegas can't handle the cold all that well.”

Another, much heavier sigh left the elder Stilinski, hand smearing over his face at his son so very clearly missing the point. Stiles cleared his throat self-consciously, shoving his hands in the pockets of his khakis as he rocked on his heels. Alright, so he'd lost a little focus on that one and had paid more attention to an insignificant detail that had been thrown in to add to the sarcasm of the entire statement, but... Yeah, he didn't really have a point or an argument there.

He was right about omegas not handling the cold well though. It was just in their natures, the way they were created, and another reason why they needed an alpha—who were all naturally hot-blooded and therefore able to keep their Mates warm. Getting chilled easily was why Stiles was always in layers and why Stuart wore a beanie in the middle of summer. It was that or get goosebumped to death by their alpha friends having their ACs up to high. Or low. Whatever, they had the temperature really freaking cold basically and it wasn't all that pleasant for the omega twins. 

“What Stiles is trying to point out,” Lydia spoke up—thankfully—stepping forward so she was on his right once more. “Is that this lead seems more plausible than the others due to a certain anomaly that showed when tracking this IP address that makes it different than his previous emails.” She gave a tight-lipped smile at the sheriff, glancing up at her friend pointedly. And when he didn't take the hint, she glared at him with wide eyes and nodded her head in the direction of his dad.

“Oh! Right.” Stiles snapped out of it, hands flying out his pockets, turning back to his dad. “We couldn't get a city this time. All the others we could narrow right down to a street address, but this had some sorta blocking program that prevented us from getting anything other than a state.”

The sheriff stared at him flatly, not seeing the point. The frustration in his scent grew to agitation, not just at the fact that he couldn't find his missing son, but at the fact that the one who was still around was being an annoying little ass.

Basically, Stiles had scented that emotion coming from his dad a lot. _A lot_ a lot.

“And like you said,” Lydia added on, arms folded under her chest, hip slightly cocked in Stiles' direction. “Stuart's a computer genius. Who's to say that he didn't falsify the first two IP addresses and leave this one as the truth?”

The elder Stilinski stared at her dubiously, that pulled-brow, tight-eyed, bottom-teeth-showing look he wore earlier. “Why wouldn't he give us the whole thing this time, if it is, in fact, the truth?”

“He's hiding,” Stiles answered roughly, wrapping his arms around himself once more, before unfolding one to gesture in a habit he never could quite break himself of. “Dad, his first email said he was leaving to make things better for us and now he's sending this cryptic message about Mates.” Refolding his arms, he licked his lips, swallowing hard before he went on. “Chances are he was trying to protect us by keeping himself hidden away where we can't find him and run into his abusive Mate and get hurt. Or worse.”

His dad nodded repeatedly then tossed the paper onto his desk and rubbed at his eyes. A heavy sigh left him once more, his shoulders slumping and his head hanging. The agitated scent was still there, joined by the scents of sadness and something that could only be described as exhaustion. Stiles hadn't really noticed just how tired his dad was until that moment, how much his job was taking out of him, how he'd seemed to age about five years over the last two and he knew it was the stress of Stuart that was causing it. A small sense of guilt washing over him at being so single-mindedly focused on the missing family member that he hadn't realized what was going on with the remaining one. His own depression and unhealthy behavior most likely hadn't helped his dad out that much either, had exasperated everything really.

His old man really did deserve better than the selfish pricks he'd been given as kids.

“Look,” the sheriff began then paused, taking a deep breath before lifting his head. “I wanna look for Stuart, I really do. You gotta trust me on that, all right?”

Stiles nodded, unable to do anything else. His dad's heartbeat was steady, meaning he was telling the truth. Yet there was an unspoken “but” at the end of that statement, the belief that he had stopped himself halfway through and the omega wasn't about to like the rest of what he was gonna say. The younger Stilinski braced himself, pressing his lips into a hard line as he rewrapped his arms around his torso and held onto himself tightly.

“But like I said, we can't afford the money or the manpower it would take for a blind statewide search,” he went on, remorse thick in his voice and in his scent. “Maybe if we had the starting point of a city, we could team up with local authorities there, but not the whole state.” An apologetic smile tugged at the corner of his lips, looking more like a wince than a grin, and Stiles heard his wolf howl at the sight of his Pack Alpha being so hard on himself.

“I get it,” he choked out, voice thick with emotions and words unsaid. And he did get it, did understand. From a financial standpoint, it didn't make a lotta sense to do what Stiles was asking for. But there still had to be something they could do. Get professionals to track the email, people with access to better technology than Danny and his super laptop. Look into Stuart's financial records once more, hack into his email and see if he sent anything to anyone else. Check his cell phone for any recent activity.

But his dad was cutting it all off with a swift “Sorry, Kid” and a pat on the shoulder. “I wish I could do more,” he stated honestly, leaning back over his desk and moving the email to the side, eyes focused on a different sheet of paper laying in the center. “But like I told you earlier, I got bigger things on my plate to deal with.”

Unable to resist, Stiles peered over and scanned the paper that held his dad's attention, soon recognizing it as a travel itinerary and schedule. “You're going on that trip?” he questioned dubiously, unable to believe his dad was still going, even after all of his earlier objections and arguments.

The sheriff nodded, lifting his head, arms folding over his chest in an authoritative manner. “Alpha Martin asked me to go and I'm going.”

Stiles sputtered as his mouth struggled to keep up with the five-hundred responses his mind was churning out, arms falling to his sides. “Wha—Da—why?!”

“I just told you why,” his dad pointed out, sneering in confusion at his son's reaction.

“Yeah, but.” He spat out then stopped, not sure where he was going with that other half-thought. He shoved a hand into his hair, other hand resting on his hip. “I mean, can't she ask someone else to go? Why does it have to be you?”

His dad didn't answer; just covered his face with his hand and sighed. Again.

“The town can't go without its sheriff and its unofficial second in command Alpha, not for however long,” he went on, sounding slightly frantic at this point. But it couldn't be helped. The whole thing gave him an overwhelming sense of dread and caused his hackles to rise. It was too suspicious, too strange, too weird to be overlooked and shoved aside as a whatever thing. Something major was going on and Stiles just knew it.

And he just needed his dad to believe him and go along with what he was saying.

“Alpha Martin already asked Chris Argent to fill in as Acting Alpha and Clarke will be in charge here. I'm going, Stiles,” the sheriff stated in a hard voice, dropping his hand and scowling at his son. “And that's final.”

The omega huffed. “Why are you so adamant about going? You and Alpha Martin got a thing going on or something?”

He felt Lydia stiffen on his right, her scent shifting to something curious and worried, and it was only then that he was reminded of how he was in the same room as Alpha Martin's daughter.

Whoops.

“Not that there's anything wrong with you dating someone,” he quickly added on, eyes flashing to his friend. “I just. No offense, Lydia, but it'd be too weird to have you and Alpha Martin be together like that.”

Honestly, it'd be weird for his dad to be with _anyone_ really, except for Scott's mom. If there was any one female on the planet who Stiles would be okay with his dad dating, it would be her. The woman had been a second mother to him for as long as he could remember, even more so after his actual mom's passing. And she had a great rapport with his dad, a good friendship, an already established relationship of trust and comfort and enjoyment. It wasn't much of a stretch to imagine them progressing past “just friends”, for weekly coffee shop meetings to turn into coffee at each other's houses on lazy Sundays together and stopping by one another's work just to see their faces rather than for a case and calling each other just to hear their voice rather than discuss what idiocy their sons had committed this time.

So yeah, his dad and Scott's mom? No problem. His dad and anyone else—including Lydia's mom—was a no go. He may have loved her like a sister, but he didn't want her as one.

“Jesus Christ, Stiles,” his dad sneered, nose wrinkled in disgust. “No, I'm not dating Alpha Martin.” He quickly wiped the expression away and gestured to Lydia. “No offense, your mom is a wonderful woman and a terrific Alpha. I'm just not interested in her in that capacity.”

She waved him off. “None taken. My mom can be abrasive and tough to handle for anyone, let alone someone in a relationship with her.”

The sheriff nodded, blowing out air like he agreed and was overwhelmed at just the thought of it, only to cut the action off when he remembered, once again, who he was in the room with and didn't wanna reverse Lydia's stance on not being offended by his statements.

Stiles looked back and forth between the two of them, shrugging the whole thing off before changing the subject. “Still doesn't explain why you're going,” he pointed out, sounding like a brat and honestly just not caring about it.

The hard look returned to his dad's face as he leveled his narrowed eyes at his son. “Because it's my _job_ , something I hope you will understand first hand in a couple years.”

He worked his jaw in annoyance at that. His dream job was to be a cop like his dad, but with omega restrictions being what they were, he'd have to settle for a permanent desk job or work behind the scenes. Part of him had considered computer crimes, but his twin had always been more of the computer genius than him. Still, he was working his way towards a criminal justice degree and hopefully an idea of what the hell he was gonna do with it.

“Go home, Kid,” his dad suggested, voice soft now, pleading. “And stay home this time. I don't wanna see your face until I get there, understood?”

A weak smile tugged at the corner of his lips for a brief second, despair overpowering him. “Yeah. Sure.”

A slow nod was the sheriff's response before he rounded the desk and hugged him goodbye, kissing Lydia's cheek in parting. Without another word, Stiles turned and left the office, his friend right by his side. He worked the back of his neck as he went, grunting goodbye to Deputy Graeme at the front desk, barely resisting the urge to flip off Haigh as the beta prick made his way through the door.

Fuck, he'd been so hopeful that his dad would help. His blind optimism had completely taken over, leading him to believe that with that new message, his dad would have no choice but to reopen Stuart's case and work it just as hard as before, if not even more so. He'd thought they'd gotten a real trail this time, a real chance to find his twin, only to have a cold dose of reality shoved down his throat. Finding Stuart was just as impossible as it had been two years ago, maybe even more. There was nothing to say Stuart was actually in California or that he'd stayed after he'd sent the email.

And he'd thought they'd been so fucking close. Turned out they were just as far away as ever.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The door banged against the bureau as Stiles stormed into his room. He ripped off his flannel and slammed it onto his bed then shoved his hands in his hair as he paced back and forth. The entire drive back to his place had been filled with his mind racing, obsessing over the email he'd long since memorized—both in English and in their twin speak—and his dad's refusal to further investigate it. Not the best idea when he was supposed to be focusing on the road, but his brain actually doing what he wanted it to wasn't a thing that happened, especially not when it was something like this.

He huffed with his cheeks blown out, vaguely aware of Lydia padding into the room behind him, her floral scent freshening the place up and trying its best to overpower his own. She didn't say anything, just silently set her purse on his desk and her shoes on the floor beside it before meandering around to the other side of his board.

Turning away from her, he kept up his pacing, chewing on his thumb once more. He had no clue what the hell to do now. He hadn't thought up a Plan B, had barely gotten a Plan A together before racing off to the sheriff's station. And worst of all, was the lack of ideas coming from anywhere else.

With a heavy sigh, he sank onto his bed, shoving his face in his palms. Shit had seemed like the absolute worst when he'd discovered Stuart had gone missing. He didn't sleep for a week straight, trying to catch his scent somewhere, trying to help track him down, always by his dad's side as he worked the case. And when he wasn't physically searching, he was up all night trying to think of where exactly his twin would run off to, why he'd leave, if he'd even left voluntarily. He'd come up with a thousand possible scenarios on the first night alone, and even when he'd gotten confirmation that his brother had left on his own free will, his mind still kept him up with a thousand reasons why.

And now? Now he had new theories, new ideas, new worries. Maybe Stu's departure hadn't been as voluntary as he'd thought it'd been. Maybe he'd been dragged out against his will, forced to send an email saying all was well, threatened into a Mating he didn't want with a guy who was most likely gonna kill him. And Stiles couldn't find him, couldn't save him.

It was gonna be all his fault.

“Wanna talk about it?” Lydia asked softly, back to him as she stared at the United States map on his board, at the lines of thin red tape that connected cities to emails.

He snorted, smearing his hands over his face before dropping them between his knees and tangling his fingers together. “Not really,” he rasped out, wiping at the bottom of his nose. “Just seems like I'm the only one who misses him, who's even doing something to try and find him.”

A wave of offense hit his nose, Lydia obviously pissed at his implications that she didn't miss him. And chances were, she did. She and Stuart had become close friends over the years, much like she and Stiles had. The three of them had a healthy competition going on for valedictorian—although it was more of a two man race, since Stiles' focus issues tended to hinder more than help with his GPA—and Lydia loved coming over to debate this topic or argue that statement, always leaving with a smile on her face and comment over how nice it was to speak with someone who could actually match her on an intellectual level.

Stiles would never forget the day Scott asked if they were spending so much time together due to a “weird sex thing”, only to get a mouthful from Stuart regarding incest and how disgusting that was before he stormed off, typing away on his phone as always. Lydia had apparently chewed him out for it the next day, too, bringing up how members of different genders and dynamics could be friends without it being sexual or due to any sort of Mate bond.

It did make Stiles wonder if there had been something between his brother and his best female friend, but Stu had further insisted that he was Dream-less and Lydia rolled her eyes and said her Mate was most definitely straight, not an omega, and very much not in Beacon Hills.

“Sorry,” he murmured, wringing his hands together. “I know you miss him, too. It's just. It doesn't come across a whole lot.”

She shrugged a shoulder before padding over to him, smoothing her skirt as she sat on his right. “People get busy with their lives and have too much other stuff to worry about so yes, sometimes missing him gets shoved to the back of our minds,” she admitted, pausing to lick her lips and shrug again, shaking her head this time. “But there are still moments when I pick up the phone to text him from school or go to email him a link I think he'd like, only to remember—” She trailed off at that, turning her head to give him a small smile.

He nodded, corner of his own lips curved up. “I get it.”

She rubbed between his shoulder blades in a soothing manner and Stiles let his mind and body relax, his omega instincts and his wolf pleased at the comforting touch from an alpha.

His eyes focused on the glass board, roaming over all the evidence—what little evidence there was anyway—regarding his brother's open case, feeling that earlier emptiness inside his chest once more. “I just wish I knew where he went,” he muttered almost absently, head hanging off heavy shoulders. “I keep trying to get in his head and figure it out, but he's just way too smart for me.”

Lydia sat up straighter at that, hand pausing her rubbing circles, calling his name out sharply. He raised his head to peer at her, noting her parted lips and her wide green eyes, the way the orbs were focused to the side as though lost in thought. He straightened up himself, turning in his seat to face her fully, feeling his wolf prick its ears and thump its tail a little as hope bloomed in his chest.

“Didn't you say running away was something _you'd_ be more likely to do?” she questioned thoughtfully, still not making eye contact.

His brow furrowed, confusion flooding him and his scent. “Yeah. Why?”

“What if you can't figure out his thought process because he's not thinking like himself? What if he's thinking and behaving like you instead?” She turned to him, small smirk on her face, the same one he'd seen countless times when she was the first to turn in her test or to solve the equation on the board before anyone else. It was her Queen Genius smirk and he adored her for it.

His lips parted in awe before his head snapped to his board. He shot up to his feet, striding around it to the back, Lydia quickly following. Because on the back of the US map, was one of California, one he was scanning to find a particular place.

“You ever hear the story of how me, Stu, and Scotty almost got arrested?” he questioned, not looking at her as she stood on his left.

She huffed, rolling her eyes and folding her arms over her chest. “Which one? The time you broke into the neighbor's pool, the time you were busted underage drinking in the Preserve, or the time you decided to graffiti the school before senior year?”

Wow. He had no idea the three of them had been up to that many shenanigans.

And those were just the ones she knew about.

“The last one,” he clarified. “We took off running right as security showed up, hightailed it into the surrounding neighborhood and around the corner where I dragged the two of them behind some guy's porch and hid, 'cause cops always expect you to keep running and not stop until you're as far away as possible.”

She bobbed her head in concession, impressed pout on her face. “Because that's what most criminals do: think they can outrun the police and keep going.”

“Exactly.” He smiled down at her, arms folded loosely over his chest, covering up the bright green print on his tee. “Scott didn't get it at first, but Stu immediately recognized it as a tactic I used in hide-n-seek when we were kids. Drove him nuts.” His grin grew at the memory, a small amount of warmth flooding him with nostalgia.

A smirk formed on Lydia's face as she caught on to his point, confusion washing away from her scent. “So you don't think he ran all the way to New York?”

“I don't think he even left the state at all,” he stated, turning back to the map. “No, if he's thinking like me, he went straight to the closest, safest place he could go.” With that, he put his finger by the city he was thinking of, the city that if he were on the run from an abusive Mate, he'd hide out in.

Her green eyes followed up his arm, finding the place he was drawing her attention to, smile growing victorious and scent becoming a little smug and overjoyed as she read it out loud. “Oak Creek.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

They tag-team researched Oak Creek in the kitchen as Stiles halfway focused on getting dinner together, but found nothing more than what they already knew. Any further information about the town wasn't open to the public, and for obvious reasons: they didn't want another attack on the State Alpha Family.

Replies to Stu's email were all sent back with a failure notice, same with texts to the number Stiles still had programmed in his cell and couldn't bring himself to delete, just in case. Phone calls were greeted with an automated message telling him the number he'd dialed was no longer in service and he gave up hope that maybe his twin had turned something on or reconnected something so Stiles could get in touch with him and help him.

Lydia sat at the island with Stiles' laptop in front of her, thoughtful pout on her face and determined scent hanging around her like a fierce perfume, while he sorted through a bag of prepacked salad with more aggression than necessary. His frustration had hit an all time high, feeling one step closer to his brother, yet still fifty steps away. It was agonizing, feeling as though his twin was _right there_ , just out of reach, so close he could practically scent the guy. But he wasn't. He was about four hours north of them—if Stiles' theory was correct anyway.

No, he was right. There was nowhere else Stu could've gone, not if he was truly running from someone. And Oak Creek was the safest place in California to hide.

Which was a huge problem, considering how maximum security it was. Rumors stated that the town was a step down from a federal prison, that the only difference was that people were allowed to leave of their own free will. But unless you were born there or had an appointment with the California Alpha made months in advance, it was practically impossible to gain admittance.

Although if anyone could get in, it was Stu.

Stiles just wished he knew his twin's secret for doing so, that way he could visit Oak Creek and find his brother for himself. Wasn't like he could call someone who worked for the city and ask. And even if he _could_ inquire about any residents within those walls, chances were Stu had thought ahead and made some sorta deal to ensure no one ever gave away the fact that he was living there.

"Shit," he muttered to himself, slamming the bag of discarded lettuce into the trash, frustration mounting as he obsessed over his brother's possible new location.

"You really think he's in Oak Creek?" Lydia quickly asked, like she'd been holding the question in until she felt it was okay to say it out loud, taking his under the breath swear as her cue.

He nodded as he swiped his hand under his nose then grabbed a large pot from under the stove, carrying it to the sink. "Yeah," he rasped out as he filled it with water, having decided that some form of pasta was all he was capable of cooking that evening. "It just feels right in my gut and with my wolf. It never made sense to to me that he'd be in New York or Kansas or where-the-fuck-ever. But Oak Creek does." Shutting off the water, he carried the pot to the stove, located in the center of the island, setting it on the largest ring and cutting the appliance on.

She nodded, lips pressed together in a hard line, eyes focused on the laptop screen. Her scent was neutral before slowly flooding with determination and a sort of finality he only over smelled from her during forced shopping trips or when she'd picked out his outfit for prom, for graduation, for the parties she threw after both. Lydia had made up her mind about something and alpha or not, he was gonna have no choice but to follow her lead.

"I caught sight of your dad's itinerary on his desk," she stated, folding her hands on the counter in front of his laptop, eyes peering over the top of it at him. "He and my mom leave at eight tomorrow morning, meaning you and I will be leaving at eight-thirty."

He opened his mouth to argue the time, only to shut it when he realized her idea was the best plan. Leaving during the night would only bring up the worst sort of déjà vu in his dad and if they departed before their parents, then the sheriff would be better able to call his men after his second wayward son.

Leaving after the sheriff and County Alpha gave them a good window to put some miles between themselves and Beacon Hills before having to admit to what they were up to—or being busted—and by then, it would hopefully be too late.

But still, one thing about her statement was bugging him. " _You're_ coming?" he questioned with a cocked eyebrow, arms loosely folded over his chest.

She gave him a pointed look before rolling her eyes. "Assuming you're even in the right mindset to drive there and not wreck—which you aren't, by the way," she began, pausing to flick her hair over her shoulder, smirking slightly at the twitch of Stiles' eyes that meant she was right and he was trying not to pout or glare because that would be admitting it. "But also because, and don't take this the wrong way," she warned with a finger pointed in his direction. "You'd have a better chance of getting inside if you had an alpha escorting you."

This time he did glare, though it wasn't aimed at her being a know-it-all and being right once again. No, this time it was aimed at the discriminatory system they lived in and the fucking archaic laws and the cave-minded beliefs that omegas were too weak and fragile to be allowed to go anywhere by themselves. No, they needed a big, strong alpha to protect them and watch over them and make sure they don't fall down and get a boo-boo.

Bullshit.

He huffed in annoyance, jaw working, fingers tapping against his arm and leg shaking in anger. "Fuckin' hate being an omega," he grumbled.

"You say that now. Just wait 'til you met your alpha." She smirked at him and wagged her eyebrows in suggestion.

Flashes of his Dream bombarded him then, a phantom torso pressed against his back, a scruff-covered jaw rubbing against his cheek and neck, a knot bumping up against his rim. He felt his passage dampen and his cock twitch at the memories of just those fantasies, arousal coursing through him before he could put a lid on it.

Lydia's smirk grew like she knew exactly what he was thinking about, like he'd just proven her right—again. He felt his face heat up in embarrassment as he blushed, hoping the mortified scent covered his horny one.

Clearing his throat, he turned away from her and shuffled to a nearby cabinet, opening it up to try and decide what pasta exactly he was making that night. "You staying for dinner?" he questioned, not really minding either way and letting that fact seep into his voice.

He heard the swish of fabric and the movement of her hair as she shrugged and let out a thoughtful "mm" noise. "Might as well. You pretty much owe me for all my help today," she stated almost dismissively, like she was doing him a favor by letting him cook and provide her with a meal.

Stiles had to bite his tongue before snarling at the implications that as an omega, it was his job and his duty to make meals for his alpha—especially since Lydia wasn't even _his_ alpha—reminding himself that it wasn't dynamic discrimination or a presumptuous alpha being a douche; that was how Lydia treated damn near everyone. Especially when she actually would really like a nice meal made by him but would never admit it by asking for it.

"Nice change of subject by the way," she commented proudly, smirk evident in her voice.

He just shrugged, refusing to admit that that had been his goal. Instead he focused on the pasta once more, grabbing a tall clear tub of fettuccine. It had always been Stu's fave and the tub hadn't been touched since he left. If there was ever a time to break it open, it was then.

A sad sigh left Stiles, the emptiness returning, his wolf whining inside his head. Uncooked noodles shouldn't upset him like that, shouldn't make him wanna curl up in a nest of his blankets and hide from the world.

God, he truly was a stereotypically pathetic omega at times.

His name was called softly from behind and he turned around to find Lydia looking at him with an equally soft expression, the corner of her lips pulled up in a sad smile, dimples in her cheeks, scent full of sympathy and upset over him being upset.

"We're gonna do whatever it takes to find him, I promise."

Stiles just nodded, forcing a small smile on his own face, not wanting to bring down the mood or his friend any more than he already had. Besides, there was nothing to be bummed about anymore. They had a damn good idea about where Stuart was and a plan to go there and find out if they were right or not. He just had to wait a few more hours, that was all.

His twin's email rang in his head like a broken record, his wolf howling along with it, stomach in dread-filled knots and churning with nauseating fear. Fuck, he truly hoped a few more hours wouldn't make that much difference to his brother's well-being.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dinner went surprisingly well, considering his wolf's growing agitation at his dad. The sheriff discussed what few details he knew about the upcoming Meeting—which was pretty much nothing—in an attempt to reassure both Stiles and Lydia that their respective parents would be fine. But all Stiles could think about was how his dad should instead be discussing how he was reopening Stu's case, how he'd forwarded the email to some high tech crime lab where experts were trying to break past the firewall to get the real point of origin, how they were planning on heading to whatever town it may be as soon as they had a definitive locale.

But no. He was discussing the merits of flying down rather than driving. Stiles didn't think that was any safer, scenes from _Snakes on a Plane_ inexplicably playing in his mind, along with countless statistics over plane crashes and near-misses. Although those were then beaten down by stats regarding car accidents and carjackings and the countless things that could go wrong in an automobile.

His dad took his silence as him still being sore over not looking more into Stu's email, which was only partially true. Yeah, he wished his dad had done more than just shoot him down, but he was able to placate himself—and his wolf—by thinking of the plan he and Lydia had in place for the next day.

Lydia was a superb actress, acting like nothing at all was amiss, as though she wasn't secretly planning on sneaking off to the most heavily fortified city in California on a whim. She asked questions regarding the sheriff and her mom's trip, appearing more like she was making conversation than using it to her own advantage, then answered ones she was asked. She discussed summer plans with Allison, an upcoming trip to some mall in another town the two of them were taking and how Danny was thinking of joining in. Stiles' dad brought up how hard it must be trying to make plans with people who were loathe to leave their Mates and how difficult it must be to be Mate-less yet surrounded by couples and Lydia shrugged it all off with ease, not bothered in the slightest. 

"He'll show up when the time is right," she said gently, soft smile on her face and dreamy look in her eyes.

Not for the first time, Stiles found himself wondering who her Mate was and even asked as much when his dad went to fetch coffee for everyone. She shrugged again, flipping her hair over her shoulder and pursing her lips.

"He's a beta," was all she gave up. Which, considering the popularity of betas, was pretty much nothing.

She left after their coffee was finished, declining the sheriff's offer of a second cup but thanking him for the open invitation for dinner any time she wanted. She hugged both Stilinski men goodbye, giving Stiles a pointed look as she told him she'd see him later before sashaying her way to her car, strawberry blonde hair glowing in the fading light.

His dad approached him while he was rinsing off dishes and stacking them in the washer, having declined a second coffee of his own and going for a squat glass of Jack Daniels instead. Stiles pointedly ignored him, focusing on his task and pretending like he wasn't scenting the curiosity and worry rolling off his dad.

"You okay, Kid?"

The short answer was "no" but he wasn't about to go there. Admitting it would mean a long in depth discussion about why he wasn't okay, which would lead to another argument against his dad heading to LA and for his dad investigating that email.

A quick glance at his old man brought his attention to darker under-eye bags and deepened wrinkles. Christ. Sometimes Stiles hated analyzing his father, the way he looked. It felt like every time he did, he was noticing more gray hairs and more wrinkles, that his smile was tighter and more strained, that it was harder for him to remain as happy and easygoing as he once was. His Mate was dead, his kid was missing, his other kid was a stubborn pain in the ass, and his job was stressful as hell. It was nothing short of a miracle that his dad hadn't wound up on a pyre of his own at that point.

Shoving all that aside, Stiles gave a simple flat "fine" as his response, hating how his heart beat steadily over the lie, so accustomed to bullshitting people over his well-being and mental and emotional status.

His dad sighed, clearly not buying it, clearly knowing his kid too well. He ducked his head, stared down at his drink as he swirled it around, whiskey sloshing inside the squat glass. "You know I really _do_ wanna find your brother, right? That I'm not _not_ looking into that email 'cause I don't care? Because I do. I just. Don't have time right now."

Stiles gripped the edge of the sink with wet hands, staring straight ahead at the window above it, not seeing the grass that he'd mowed the day before or the flower beds that he'd weeded the previous week or the giant oak with the fallen leaves he'd grumbled about raking while it was still technically spring. He also wasn't seeing a lawn he and Stu used to run around in, flowers they planted with their mom, a tree-house that had been his, Stu, and Scott's fort, a giant "3S" sloppily painted on the door. He wasn't lost in nostalgia like he usually was. He was just...lost.

He grit his teeth against his dad's words, fingers curling, conscious to keep his claws retracted and not scratch the ceramic sink. "Then why can't you forward it to someone who _does_ have time?" he ground out, head hanging, now staring unseeing at the unwashed, unrinsed dishes in the sink.

"I already did," his dad admitted lowly. "But it could take them a long time to crack through that firewall, days, maybe even weeks."

Stiles just nodded, lips pressed into a hard line as he kept up the facade of being annoyed and pissed at his dad's lack of action, when instead, he was thinking about how much time that would buy him and Lydia. With everyone focusing on the tech team, they'd be less likely to notice their absence or question why they'd left. It was a damn good cover, a nice little shield of sorts to hide behind.

"Wanna tell me what else is bothering you?" the sheriff went on, looking pointedly over his glass as he drank.

The younger Stilinski moved at that, grabbing a plate as he let out a firm "nope", popping the "p". At least he could be honest about that much.

His dad nodded as he lowered his glass, ice clinking inside. "This have anything to do with you thinking me and Alpha Martin have a more than professional relationship?"

The snort left him before he could stop it, plate loud as he put it in the washer. "No, Dad," he replied as he straightened up, looking at his old man, eyes being drawn to the faint Claiming Bite on the left side of his dad's neck.

His mom had put it high up, just below his jaw, stating she wanted it to show over his collars so no Mate-less hussies got the wrong idea about a man in uniform. Stiles could remember how dark it was when he was a kid, how stark it was against his dad's tan skin. Now, without his Mate around to refresh it—so to speak—it had faded to the point where it was a faint white scar, barely noticeable unless you were really looking for it.

Fuck, it hurt to look at it. He couldn't imagine how torturous it was for his dad to see it though, to realize how much lighter it was and what exactly that meant.

His earlier thought regarding his surprise over his dad not having been turned to ashes yet came back once again and he had to swallow hard against the swell of emotions threatening to clog his throat and choke him.

"I gotta ask, Kid," his dad started then stalled, wincing, bottom teeth on display. Whatever was about to come out his mouth, he was expecting a bad reaction from his son. Not good. "Is the main reason why you don't want me and Alpha Martin together because you and Lydia already are?"

Stiles dropped a handful of silverware in the sink with a loud clanging crash, staring wide eyed and open mouthed at his dad. "Wha—ho—wha—?" he sputtered, flabbergasted, confused, so totally thrown off. "No, Dad! Jesus Christ!"

"I'm just asking," the elder Stilinski pointed out, hands held up in innocence before he lowered them to the front of his torso. "It's not uncommon for people to date around before finding their Mate and she seems like a really good alpha who'll take care of you while you wait for yours to show."

He just stared incredulously at his dad, brow furrow in confusion, eyes wide in shock, lips parted but no words coming out. He was well aware of people dating outside of Mates, had been front row for the Scott-Allison Pre-Mates Angst Fest and had been witness to the Jackson-Lydia Pre-Dream Drama Show, as well as countless other couples in high school and at Stanford. And while he could understand why some people did it—didn't wanna be lonely, craved affection and a partner, wanted the protection of an alpha or to take care of an omega, were horny and wanted to get some practice in before the big show, so to speak—it wasn't something he was interested in doing.

Sure, at first, maybe he had been. Even after Lydia'd had her Dream, he'd still held out hope of maybe getting some practice in with her or the two of them killing waiting time together. But then he'd had his own Dream and he just didn't see the point. Why settle for someone who might be good but wasn't specifically created for you? Why put up with decent sex or run the risk of a bad lay when you knew something so much better was waiting for you, when you knew first hand how much better it could be? Seemed pointless and like a waste of time.

Besides, he'd seen enough rom-coms and TV shows to know that dating outside of a Mate wouldn't end well. People fell in love with the wrong person, ended up torn between destiny and this person they had feelings for but weren't supposed to be with, had their hearts broken when the person they were in a serious committed relationship with found their Mate and left them, had kids with someone other than their Mates and wound up with broken families and awkward custody arrangements. It was messy and not worth the risk, just to be with someone.

And yeah, spending heats alone sucked and he hated the mortification of facing his dad after spending three days writhing and groaning and getting himself off in the heat room of their basement, but he did it with the knowledge that it wasn't forever and that one day he'd have a big strong alpha and his knot to help him out.

So as much as he loved and adored Lydia—which was a whole helluva lot—he couldn't just settle for her like that. It wasn't fair to her, wasn't fair to himself, and definitely wasn't fair to their respective Mates.

Shaking his head rapidly, he snapped himself out of it and focused back on the conversation at hand. "I know, but it's not like that with me and Lyds and it's gonna stay not like that with us," he stated, gathering up the silverware he'd dropped and rinsing them off again. "She doesn't wanna be with anyone or find her Mate until she's done with school and I don't wanna be with anyone until I find my alpha." He shrugged leaning over to put the utensils in the dishwasher rack. "Guess I'm just traditional in that sense."

His dad nodded, brow furrowed and eyes distant, like he was seeing something in the past rather than in his near empty glass of whiskey. "I get it," he murmured, almost like he wasn't aware that he was speaking so quietly. "Your mom was the same way."

The casual mention of his mom made something clench inside his chest, an aching hollowness that never quite went away. The pain was just as raw, just as fresh as it had been the day he lost her, like bringing her up tore at the stitches holding together the wound that her loss had created.

He was left with hands that trembled as he shut off the faucet, throat tight as he put detergent in the dishwasher and switched it on. Fuck, it felt like all of him was shaking slightly, a barely there tremor coursing through his entire being as he cleared his throat and turned to his dad, head ducked, unable to look him in the eye.

"I'm gonna head to bed," he murmured, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Been a long day."

It was the truth and his heartbeat said as much, his dad nodding more and giving him a small smile in response. But it wasn't the entire reason why he wanted to hit the hay. He knew that going to sleep early meant waking up early which further meant that tomorrow would arrive sooner. And the sooner tomorrow came, the sooner he'd be off to Oak Creek to hopefully rescue his brother and being him home.

"All right, Kid," his dad said softly, clapping him on the shoulder. "Get some rest. I'll see you before I leave tomorrow morning, okay?"

Stiles just nodded, still not looking him in the eye. Good nights were exchanged before he dragged himself upstairs to his room, flopping back into his bed and staring at the ceiling. Just a few more hours, he reassured himself. A few more and then everything would be okay.


	5. The Departure.

Stiles had taken a psychology class in high school, believing it would help him during his future career in law enforcement. One unit of the class covered dreams—both regular and Mate ones, both good and bad—and he even learned how to tell when a particularly realistic dream was, in fact, not actually happening.

But unfortunately for him, none of his tips were of any use at that moment.

He couldn't see his hands, the appendages swinging back and forth by his sides as he ran like hell from something—no, some _one_ , his mind corrected, knowing intrinsically that he was fleeing from a person—so he couldn't count his fingers to see if he had any extras.

He was also in the middle of the woods, meaning there were no numbers and no letters around, further meaning there was no way to tell if he couldn't read. That one had come in handy plenty times, when nightmares after his brother's disappearance had seemed a little _too_ real. But numbers on clocks had all been weird symbols and letters had been rearranged and were out of order from the words he knew they were supposed to spell.

And while at that moment, tearing through unfamiliar woods, he knew in the back of his mind it was a dream, but he couldn't quite believe it. The adrenaline and terror coursing through his body felt too real. The way his lungs were burning and his heart was pounding and his legs were aching, they were all too familiar a sensation, harkening back to boot camp like lacrosse practices and cross country marathons back in high school with his sadistic coach screaming at him.

The guy _had_ made them run in the woods at times to build up tolerance and conditioning.

Granted it was never at night. And given the lack of light and the fact that everything was in stark colors and high contrast, like an Instagram filter of sorts, he was obviously using his wolf vision to see, something that was only necessary when trying to look at his surroundings in dim or nonexistent light.

Maybe he was in his wolf form, running under a full moon.

No. He was too far off the ground for that, not to mention the fact that he could feel his arms swinging at his sides and only two feet clomping on the ground. He could feel sweat coating his skin where his arms were exposed from his t-shirt sleeves, feel the mugginess that was hanging in the air from a combination of an earlier thunderstorm and an upcoming one due to happen any moment. Definitely still human.

The fact that the woods were completely unfamiliar and nothing like the Preserve he'd run through and explored countless times before growing up further led to his belief that he was dreaming the whole thing. That, and the fact that he'd yet to trip or stumble or run into anything like he usually did.

And yet...

There was just something about what was going on that screamed _this is really fucking happening_ , something that stopped him short of believing it was a dream and he was gonna wake up any minute. Sure, he'd had night-terrors before—mainly after losing family members—fearful reveries that had felt so real, someone had had to shake him awake and convince him it had all been his fucked up imagination, but this went beyond that. This went beyond something his mind could've created, something his subconscious could've made up as a manifestation of his worries over his twin's well-being. It was truly happening to him in real time and there was no waking up, no making it stop.

No getting out alive.

A whimper left him, ears pricking at the sound of footsteps thundering behind him. His pursuer was closing in fast, he was running out of time, running out of chances...

No. He wasn't giving up. His brother wouldn't want him to. Yeah, things looked pretty grim at that moment, but he hadn't come that far to just give up and let himself lose. He was gonna fight to the bitter end, no matter how close it seemed to be. It was what his twin would do, therefore what he was gonna do. As long as he was still living and his lungs were still burning from lack of oxygen and his heart was still pounding from the exercise, there was still a chance. He just needed to find another option, another choice, another way out.

A snarl sounded out from somewhere behind him and it spurred him on, gave him a second wind. In the back of his mind he knew it was an alpha that was chasing him, although he wasn't entirely sure how he knew. Had to be the speed, he reasoned. Omegas weren't the fastest dynamic, but a beta couldn't have closed the distance between them that quickly.

And they had closed in _fast_.

Up ahead he spotted a sturdy tree, one with a branch he could haul himself up with. It would be easy to climb and hide out in it, to wait until the alpha raced past and was out of hearing range then turn around and race home.

Then again, it would be just as easy for the alpha to climb the tree right after him and he'd be easy prey, left defenseless and without a chance of escape.

There were no caves he could hide in in this part of the woods and he had a fleeting thought that he shouldn't really know that, shouldn't feel so familiar with this forest that he'd never been in before—or at least couldn't remember having been in before.

He didn't get the chance to fully analyze that thought, thrown off by tripping over a root and faceplanting. The ground was wet from recent rain, half decomposed leaves sticking to him, mud getting in his mouth as he grunted from the fall. Lifting his torso up, he glanced around, everything blurry. He briefly considered a head injury messing up his eyesight, only to realize he hadn't actually hit his head. Whiplash maybe? His head _had_ been jarred upon impact.

His hand instinctively lifted to his face, shoving something up the bridge of his nose. His vision cleared up immediately, confusion growing in his mind at the realization that he'd just straightened a pair of glasses. Glasses he didn't wear.

But Stu did.

Once again, he didn't have time to dwell on any one thought for too long, already focused on the danger closing in on him. Clambering up, he got back on his feet, taking off once more. His frenetic movements and his panic made him sloppy, feet slipping on wet leaves, stumbling on roots, and he nearly fell a second time, barely catching himself on a nearby tree. He ignored the sting of a scraped palm, didn't bother focusing on healing it. The alpha had his scent; blood added into the mix wasn't gonna change anything. Besides, he needed his strength for running, for speed.

A ravine was up ahead, another fact he knew that he really shouldn't have, another fact he didn't think about. Instead, he altered his movements so he could easily slide down the embankment, picking up speed, careful not to fall or get caught in the thorny brush that lay at the bottom. He didn't pause when he hit level ground, booking it once more in an effort to put distance between himself and his pursuer.

It wasn't long before he heard the alpha rumbling down that ravine, grunting as he hit the bottom, snarling and growling in anger as he seemed to be caught in the brush. A small victorious grin pulled at the corner of his lips, the knowledge that his pursuer was tangled up giving him a second wind and allowing him to put more distance between them.

A creek slowed him down, but he still felt safer than he had before as he waded through. His jeans were weighed down by the water, making it harder for him to run, yet he managed, thoughts of his twin spurring him on. His brother wouldn't slow down, wouldn't be deterred by obstructive clothing, and neither would he.

It was just too bad his body wasn't cooperating with him. The muggy air made it hard to breathe in the first place and the fact that he must've run about ten miles at that point wasn't helping. His entire chest was burning, legs made of fiery jelly, scorching and sluggish. He was stumbling more than ever, losing his footing due to fatigue rather than the wet ground and he knew he needed to find a safe place to hide out.

A large tree with an alcove was nearby and he quickly shot behind it, nestling inside the hollow trunk. He thought of his twin once more, hand slipping inside his pocket and sliding out a smartphone Stiles didn't recognize. His fingers trembled as he pulled up a new message, typing in a number he knew by heart but couldn't quite remember who it belonged to.

The sound of splashing water caused his head to snap up, straining his ears to hear better. The alpha was closing in once more, had to be only a few dozen yards away by now. Shit.

His pants filled the small space as he typed out a message without even looking at it, trembling fingers moving with a surety of well practiced movements. He heard a crash as a tree was literally shoved aside in the alpha's haste to get to him and he glanced down at the message he'd typed up.

" _Luv u bro. I'm sry_ "

He didn't have time to be confused, to question what he was apologizing for, hitting send seconds before a clawed hand reached inside and yanked him out of his hiding spot, throwing him aside. He landed on the ground with a loud thud, rolling a few times, and he was dimly aware of glasses falling off his face with the motion. As soon as he came to a stop, he was hauled up to his feet by the back of his shirt, a second hand wrapping around his throat. His shirt was released right before he was slammed back against a tree, his head smacking back against the rough bark, his back throbbing in pain as he groaned.

"I told you," a garbled voice rumbled, the words more of a growl through fangs. "You shouldn't run."

He blinked hard, trying to rid himself of the black spots swirling in his vision from the concussion he most likely just suffered. Everything was still blurry when he reopened them, reminding him of the time he tried on Stu's glasses and everything fuzzed out on him. But he could still make out the shapes of a large male, about his own height, red eyes glowing in the darkness. He could see a black v-neck tee covering his broad frame, a large bicep straining the sleeve as he hauled him in closer.

The stalker smelled of alpha, wolf, faded cologne, the woods, and something else he couldn't quite place. It sent a shiver down his spine at the odd combination of "home" and "danger" and every muscle in his body tightened up, preparing him to flee.

His eyes shut tight as the alpha pressed his face close, hot breath gusting against his ear, the extended rough sideburns of his partial turn scratching at his cheek. A whimper escaped him as he clawed uselessly at the hand still around his throat, the grip squeezing enough to let him know it was there, to alert him to how very fucked and at the alpha's mercy he was, but not choking. He'd wind up with some bruising for sure—if he even made it out alive.

"Now," the alpha rumbled, snuffling all along his face and neck. "I'm gonna show you what happens to little omegas who shove their snouts where it doesn't belong and don't obey their alphas."

The hand around his neck flashed to his tee as he pulled back, giving him another blurry vision of red eyes and tan skin. His own orbs went wide, lips moving as he begged for his life, as he repeatedly pleaded "no" and "please" and "don't".

The alpha didn't listen, not that Stiles was expecting him to. Instead, he raised his clawed hand and slashed down in the direction of his neck...

Stiles woke up screaming like something was being ripped out of him.

Which was actually fairly fitting, since he actually felt like his soul was being torn in two.

He bolted upright into a sitting position, a soul-aching roar tearing from his throat, arms flying about. He was distantly aware of objects vibrating in his room from the force of his howl, of his bed frame shaking and banging against the wall, of the old windows rattling in their frames. A book fell off his desk, a tower of DVDs toppled off his shelves, his alarm clock vibrating its way off his nightstand, a baseball and a model Camaro rolling off the shelves above his bed. But he barely noticed any of it, too caught up in the roar making its way out of his mouth and the gut-wrenching pain of something being yanked from inside of him.

It felt like fiery claws had reached inside, had sunk into something vital, into something important, and had torn it out of him, ripping it to shreds as it went. His chest cavity felt more hollow than ever, a burning ache behind broken ribs and corrupted lungs and fractured heart. Something was gone, something was missing. It was more than just the loss of his mom or the disappearance of his brother. It was.. it was...

His dad burst into his room, claws extended, eyes glowing red. The sight of them had Stiles' hands flying to his neck, feeling for scratches, tears, claw marks of some form or fashion. He could still feel the alpha's bruising grip, still feel his breath on his ear and fur in his cheek and those threats echoed in his head over and over and over again.

He was vaguely aware of his dad sitting behind him, hauling him in for a tight embrace, his name spoken repeatedly and with increasing urgency. It wasn't real. Being in the woods wasn't real. Being chased by that alpha wasn't real. Being held in a strangling hold and threatened and nearly sliced open by menacing claws wasn't real.

But fuck if it had felt like it had been.

His screams slowly died off, shifting to harsh panting. His every inhale was a rough drag against a raw throat, chest heaving and burning, torso feeling as though it was on fire with stinging wounds. He glanced down, only seeing his dad's thick forearms wrapped around him, holding him tight, holding him in place. His omega nature was soothed by the calming presence of an alpha, by the comforting—and tight—embrace. But his wolf was yowling, thrashing, writhing around in pain as it howled long and mournfully.

"You're okay, son," his dad's soothing words made it through the buzzing in his head, past the loud inhales he was still gasping in. "It was only a dream. You're okay. You're fine. I've got you."

Stiles' heaving breaths continued to wrack his body, but slowed down from their previous hyperventilating pace, lessening in their power. He clutched at his dad's forearm, fingers digging in frantically as he tried to ground himself in reality and make himself fully understand the difference between what was actually happening and what was a dream. If he held on too tight or dug in too much, his dad didn't say a word, just kept holding on, kept stroking his hair, kept kissing his head, kept murmuring words of comfort and reassurance.

But all the while, that soul-deep burning wound remained.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He had no idea how long they stayed like that, how long his dad had held onto him like he was a small child who'd been scared by the boogeyman. Not that it mattered. His dad could've held onto him for a month and he'd still feel completely unsettled and lost.

His dad left only due to Stiles' insisting that he should get some rest before his trip, due to Stiles lying his ass off about being okay. His words were rasped through a raw throat, smile fake and forced on a sore face, jaw having been stretched wide from screaming. But his old man must've been too tired to notice anything too wrong, leaving with a worried smile and a declaration that they'll talk in the morning, finally leaving after his fifth time asking if he was sure the omega would be fine.

The truth was Stiles didn't think he'd be fine ever again, not with the way it felt like someone had ripped half his soul out. But he couldn't say that, not to his dad who was already worrying himself to an early pyre. So he just nodded and gave that fake smile, shoving his dad out the door with a quip about needing beauty rest and how no one would take an alpha seriously as a threat with that level of bags under his eyes.

Finally alone, Stiles headed straight for the en suite, flipping in the switch and wincing at the harsh fluorescent light overhead. He had no clue what time it was, just knew that it still had to be early considering the lack of sunlight coming through his bedroom window. Most normal people would be asleep, but not him. Oh no. Not only had his circadian rhythm been fucked since he was about eight—not so coincidentally around the time his mom had died—but his mind was still buzzing with a thousand thoughts, all of them centered on that dream that felt like more than just a dream.

Eyes adjusted, he looked at himself in the mirror. His neck was perfectly fine, lightly tan flesh unmarred save for the scattering of moles that had always been there. A quick check of his palms showed no abrasions from any falls and his clothes were clean and dry. Lifting up his tee, he was surprised to find his skin perfectly smooth there, too, just the light indentations of what could loosely be called a six-pack and a trail of dark hair leading from his belly button down past the waistline of his pajama pants.

He dropped his shirt, heaving out a breath, hands gripping the counter. All a dream. A really fucked up dream. Wouldn't be the first time he wasn't fully convinced it had all been in his head. And at least this time he hadn't woken up in someone else's yard or the sheriff's station while his dad was working overnight.

Or a coyote den. That had been an interesting experience to say the least.

Smearing a hand over his face, he shoved it all aside, flipping off the light as he shuffled back into his room and over to his bed. He sank down with a sigh, absently rubbing the center of his chest. It really felt like he should have claw marks there, giant gashes across his torso, so deep he could see bone, or at the very least muscle fibers. There was no way that aching, burning sting was all in his mind, no way it didn't have a definitive cause.

Whatever. He needed sleep, too. His dad wasn't the only one who had a trip the next day and Stiles needed to be refreshed and clear-headed if he was gonna find his brother.

Something seized inside his chest and he found himself clutching at his shirt. No. He was fine. Everything was fine. Stu was okay and it would just be a few more hours before...before...

His hand was snatching his cell off the nightstand before he'd even thought to grab it, flipping it over and lighting up the screen. A new text was displayed, one from an unknown number, and he felt his heart completely stop in his chest, his entire body going numb but with that burning sting still remaining.

" _Luv u bro. I'm sry_ "

~*~*~*~*~*~

Saying goodbye to his dad that morning was pretty damn difficult. Things were still strained between them, a fact that was exasperated by a last ditch effort to get his dad to stay home and not go to the Meeting, something that earned him a harsh sigh and a tired eye rub.

Truth be told, Stiles wasn't entirely sure he wanted his dad to stay home. Yeah, he didn't want him going to the Meeting, but if he were to flat out not leave Beacon Hills, then it would be damn near impossible for the omega and Lydia to leave themselves. So he was left torn between relief that he wasn't about to be caught and worrying over his dad's safety, something the sheriff insisted he didn't need to do.

But watching that cruiser back down the drive and head to the Martin residence was fucking hard as hell and Stiles had to clench every muscle in his body to stop from flinging himself on it.

The soul deep burning ache had dissipated sometime during the night, leaving him feeling like an empty vessel. He'd spent the few remaining hours of darkness wide awake and numb, sitting on his bed with his phone in his hand, every now and then rereading that text, the text he'd dreamed up.

It was too similar to be a coincidence, too fucking close. As dawn drew nearer, his mind had kicked back online, reminding him of stories and legends he'd heard about twins, about psychic links. He remembered tales of he and Stu sharing pain, finishing each others sentences, saying the exact same thing at the exact same moment. Maybe it was possible that they shared a connection like that. After all, why would he dream of himself wearing glasses or sending a text that he just happened to get in real life?

Then again, he'd texted others in his sleep before, even called Scott on a couple occasions and had full conversations with him, all while completely dead to the world, never remembering any of it. It was entirely possible that he'd texted himself.

Wouldn't explain the unknown number that came with the text though.

He'd shoved it all aside when he heard his dad up and about in his bedroom down the hall, deciding to get up himself and go shower. Breakfast had been made and eaten in tense silence, his dad asking if Stiles was okay and if he wanted to talk about it. The younger Stilinski had lied some more, saying he was fine, just a bad dream, and no, he didn't wanna talk about it. His dad had gone along with it, although it hadn't been all that clear if he'd believed his son or not.

Knowing the sheriff, he probably hadn't and was just placating him. Not that Stiles cared. Suited him just fine really. Whatever it took for the subject to be dropped and him to be left alone.

Once the cruiser disappeared around the corner, Stiles headed back inside and to his room, shooting Lydia a text that his dad was gone, as per their plan. He grabbed his duffel from his closet and plopped it on his bed, cell buzzing in his pocket from her quick response.

" _Perf. I'll see you in thirty._ "

It only took him about ten minutes to pack, another three to triple check he had everything, both he and his luggage downstairs and waiting fifteen minutes early. He contemplated a second cup of coffee, filling a tall thermos of the hot and caffeinated as he gave in, settling at the island counter to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

He slipped his phone out his khaki pocket solely for something to do, eyes coming across his brother's text again.

" _Luv u bro. I'm sry_ "

" _Mates don't always mean happy ever after_."

Fuck.

His vision got blurry but not due to losing dream glasses. Holding a hand in front of his mouth, he sniffed loudly, leg shaking underneath the counter as he willed the tears to disappeared, as he fought gravity to hold them back and not let them fall. There was no proof his brother was dead, that anything bad had happened. All he had was circumstantial evidence, a gut feeling, and a hollow sensation within his soul that something had been ripped from him. Not only would that not hold up in court, but it wasn't even enough to bring charges against someone. Or even investigate them in the first place.

"Stiles?" Lydia called out from the front door, inviting herself in as always.

"In here!" he replied, still staring down at his phone as it now lay on the counter, that same text still displayed on the screen.

Her heels clicked on the floor as she sashayed in, Prada pursed bumping against her side as it hung off her crocked arm. Tiny pastel pink shorts barely covered her legs, paired with a low-cut gray tee and her favorite nude booties—a term he only knew because of her—hair hanging in loose curls around her shoulders with a singular braid rubbing across the top like a headband. Her attempt at comfy, casual road trip wear left a lot to be desired in the comfy part, but she was a lot more put together than the baggy khakis and wrinkly white ringer tee he wore. Not that he actually put any effort into it. He was too brain dead to do anything except grab clothes off hangers and put them on.

At least he'd remembered to pack underwear.

"You ready to go?" she asked as she filled a pink bedazzled travel mug with the rest of the coffee Stiles had made, the silver "princess" and crown glittering in the kitchen light.

When he didn't answer, she turned to him, brow furrowed in concern, lips pursed. "What's wrong?" she asked softly, the slight rasp of her voice soothing in a way only hers could be.

Stiles still didn't speak, just slid his phone across the counter. He watched as she stepped closer, concern and curiosity warring to be the dominant emotion in her scent when she picked the device up and scanned the screen.

"I had this dream last night," he rasped out, pausing to clear his throat before telling her about it, about the alpha chasing him and the blurred vision from askew glasses and the texting and the threats and the swiping claws that had been the last thing he'd seen. "And when I woke up, that was on my phone and I can't get rid of this aching, gnawing feeling in my gut that something is wrong and missing and that I'm half of me," he wrapped up, hand on his chest and tears in his eyes. Fuck, saying it out loud made it feel more real, like it hadn't been a dream and that Stuart had somehow transmitted something to him, possibly his last moments, and that he was now laying dead in the woods somewhere just waiting for someone to find his body.

Lydia was silent for a long moment, carefully placing the phone back on the counter and sliding it to him. Her lips were pressed in a hard line, green eyes focused on her fingers as they remained on the cell, scent sad but with an underlying determination he'd come to recognize and expect from her.

“That was you last night, wasn't it?” she questioned lowly, not looking up at him. “That roar I heard? You let it out.”

He swallowed hard, throat aching at the memory of the noise he'd made, not at all surprised that she'd heard it on the other side of town. “Yeah,” he choked out, fingers curled up against his lips to hold back a sob threatening to bust out of him.

She nodded, not saying anything for a long time, licking her lips and pressing them together as she collected her thoughts. "Until we know for sure that he's dead," she began roughly then raised her eyes to meet his. "Until we get one-hundred percent confirmation that he's no longer alive, and until we see his actual body, we're gonna continue to operate as though he's still living, understood?" Her voice and eyes were both hard, brokering no argument, and he found himself slightly tilting his head to the side to expose his neck to her.

"Understood," he agreed, then swallowed hard.

She nodded once in finalization before marching over to grab her mug and purse by the coffee maker. "Then let's get this show on the road and find that twin of yours," she declared, striding out the room in a whirlwind of Chanel perfume and bouncing strawberry blonde hair, leaving Stiles no choice but to shoot up to his feet and follow, barely remembering his phone in his haste.

Locking the front door, he gave a mental goodbye to the house and his dad, apologizing for his rebellious actions. But it'd be worth it, had to be worth it, and he knew that his dad would eventually forgive him. The only thing Stiles truly needed to worry about was Stuart's state of being at that moment and what condition they were gonna find him in. The hollow ache in his soul flared up and he knew he wasn't gonna be thinking of anything else until they found his brother.

Stiles somehow managed to fit his duffel and pillow in the trunk of Lydia's blue sedan, cocking an eyebrow at the sight of her two suitcases and large makeup case. "How long are we planning on being away?" he questioned, stepping back so she could shut the trunk door.

She simply shrugged a shoulder, lips pursed in a nonchalant pout. "I like to be prepared for anything."

He bobbed his eyebrows in dismissal, knowing it was better just to go along with her than question her further, choosing instead to head to the passenger side door and get in.

The journey through town was quick and efficient but not to the point where they drew anyone's attention with a speedy getaway or broken speed limit. It was almost like Lydia was just as anxious to get on the road as he was, just as anxious to get to Oak Creek and find Stuart, find some answers. Nervousness and fear were a heavy scent in the car and he knew it wasn't coming from just him, given the way she was gripping the wheel a little too tightly. Not that he had any room to talk. His entire body was tensed up, hands wringing in his lap, knots in his stomach pulling tighter and tighter the closer they got to the city wall.

When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he damn near jumped out of his skin.

Lydia's wide eyes snapped to him, quickly looking him over to make sure he was okay, and he gave her a sheepish smile in apology.

"Sorry," he murmured, hand wringing the back of his neck. "Guess I'm just nervous about being caught."

Which was the truth, even if he hadn't fully realized it until that moment. For all their planning and careful steps taken to cover their tracks, they could still be busted at the gate, still be turned in to their parents, still be ordered to turn around and head home, leaving the whole thing for naught. And that would be more devastating than actually reaching Oak Creek and finding out Stu wasn't there, hadn't ever been there.

A sympathetic smile formed on her face, hand rubbing his knee in a comforting manner. "You'll be fine once we hit the highway," she assured him softly.

He snorted at that. " _If_ we hit the highway," he corrected.

" _When_ we hit the highway," she argued firmly, his cell buzzing against his thigh once again. "Check your phone," she instructed, moving her hand back to the steering wheel.

He sighed but did as he was told, slipping his smartphone out his khaki pocket and lighting up the screen. Two texts from Scott were displayed and his heart started pounding, afraid he'd already been busted before they'd even hit the exit.

No. No way. As much as he loved Scotty, the guy wasn't the brightest light bulb in the box and wasn't all that observant. Plus Stiles hadn't seen or talked to his best friend since his birthday get-together two days ago, so it wasn't like he could've given anything away. If anything, Scott was tryna make up for forgetting what the day before was.

Taking a deep breath to calm both himself and his wolf down, he unlocked his phone and got a better look at the messages.

" _Dude wanna come ova 4 halo fest? Al's spendin time w fam. Can order pizza n eat junk all day_ "

" _Ik ur not sleepin saw sheriff car leavin town u wouldnt let him leave w/o sayin bye. U ignorin me? U mad bout yday? im sry. :( Hmu bro_ "

The sad face practically killed Stiles, picturing Scott pouting like a puppy with big brown eyes and lopsided jaw. Hurting his feelings was like telling a little kid there was no Santa, no Easter Bunny, and no Tooth Fairy all in one go and he heard his wolf whine a little at the guilt he was feeling at what he was planning to do. It wasn't just his dad he was leaving behind and if shit went south, it wouldn't just be his old man mourning his loss. Scott had been a brother to him since they were kids, as close to Stiles as his own twin, sometimes maybe even closer. He didn't wanna hurt the guy's feelings but sometimes it was necessary.

He made a mental note to text Scott later when he messaged his dad, telling both of them the truth about what he and Lydia were up to when it was too late for them to be stopped. Then he typed up a reply for that moment, assuring his best friend that he wasn't being ignored but no he couldn't hang, he had plans with Lydia.

" _Cool. Mayb 2moro?_ "

He swallowed the lump of guilt in his throat, honestly having no idea if he'd be able to rain check for the next day, not knowing where he'd be it what he'd be doing.

" _Maybe._ "

He left it at that, turning his phone off after confirming the message had sent and slipping it back into his pocket. A heavy sigh left him as he turned to look out the passenger window, chin cupped in his hand, eyes taking in the familiar sights of the more rural part of Beacon Hills, the power plant in the distance, the tended fields of grass lining the road, the wall a couple miles up ahead.

"He'll understand," Lydia assured him, not needing to ask who'd texted or what was going on, most likely scenting it in the small car. "Once you explain it to him. If no one else, Scott will get it and he'll forgive you."

Stiles just nodded, knowing she was right but not exactly in the mood to be comforted. He felt guilty as hell for lying, the friend in him hating not letting his best friend in on it, the omega in him nauseous from lying to an alpha, the wolf in him not liking keeping someone who was essentially a Pack Mate in the dark.

The checkpoint to leave the city came up sooner than Stiles expected, a deputy he thankfully didn't recognize manning the gate that day. He handed over his ID with a slight scowl, not all that thrilled with the red " _OMEGA_ " next to his name.

Not that he was all that thrilled with his name on it either, but he could've lived with the eye chart of a moniker if it didn't have such a glaringly obvious eyesore of a dynamic after it.

The deputy did a double-take with his card before raising her eyebrows in an "all righty then" fashion, before reading over a sheet of paper Stiles hadn't noticed being handed over.

Leaning closer to his friend, he whispered in her ear. "What is that?"

"Permission slip from the Town Alpha to leave for a few days," she stated in an obvious fashion, slightly rolling her eyes at him. "Remember how we talked to my mom about our road trip and she said it was fine and that we didn't need to document where we were headed since we didn't have a real destination in mind? Plus we both know how difficult it can be for an omega to leave the city without his registered alpha's consent or accompaniment, so my mom gave us her blessing." She wrapped it up with a shrug like the whole thing was no biggie when really Stiles knew she'd broken several laws. Falsifying signatures, taking an omega beyond the walls without his or the Town Alpha's permission, lying on official documents. Nothing _majorly_ serious—well except for maybe the second one but he was treating that with the contempt it deserved—but it all added up to jail time.

His guilt ratcheted up, knowing he was now putting his other friend at risk, was causing her to break the law and get in serious legal trouble, County Alpha mother or not. Fuck, he seriously hadn't thought things through, hadn't thought past his brother. He'd operated with blinders on and his friend was gonna pay the price for his single-mindedness.

Lydia squeezed his knee reassuringly, murmuring at him to relax, all while smiling sweetly at the deputy and taking the IDs and falsified paperwork back. She stuck it all in the center console, waving at the guard as the gate rolled to the side and they were granted permission to exit. The sedan easily rolled through, tires avoiding the spikes that ensured no one entered the wrong way, picking up speed as it hit a minor highway.

But Stiles couldn't relax, was full of anxiety and guilt, mind obsessively worrying over what it was that he had done. Lied to his dad. Essentially ran away from home. Lied to his best friend. Left town without permission. Had his other best friend commit a couple misdemeanors. All on a gut feeling and a whim. So fucking stupid.

Fingers carded through his hair at the back of his head, perfectly manicured nails scratching his scalp. He sank lower in his seat, eyes drifting shut as he allowed himself to be placated by the soothing touch of an alpha, his wolf practically purring.

"Everything's gonna be fine," Lydia stated in her reassuring rasp, fingers still scratching as she focused on the road. "Relax and quit stinking up my car."

He nodded, giving in to his omega nature and allowing the slight command in her voice dictate his actions. Sometimes it just felt good to give in to instincts like that. Was better than the other option really and worrying himself onto his own pyre.

Eyes closed, he drifted off to her soothing scratches, the hum of the car engine, and the low rumble of tires over the smooth tar road.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stiles woke up after about an hour and a half of uninterrupted dreamless slumber, feeling a lot less like death. He stretched the best he could in the cramped confines of the car, tilting his neck this way and that to try and get the crick out of it before deciding it was useless and he was just gonna have to live with a sore neck.

Lydia updated him on their progress as he drank cold coffee from the thermos, letting him know they were a little behind on their schedule because she'd been taking detours to drive around any and all walled cities, sticking to smaller ones with no gates or checkpoints. He shrugged it off, saying he had no issues with that. The less checkpoints they had to go through, the less likely they were to be found out by someone back home.

Music played from an app on Lydia's phone, some station claiming to play all the summer hits, volume low so it was mere background noise. He tuned it out more than paid attention, focusing instead on the passing scenery or chatting with her over whatever random topic came to mind. It was nice, companionable, laughs shared between friends over college experiences, tales from high school, her complaining over her mother trying to argue her into accompanying the County Alpha to the Meeting and he adding in his own problems with his dad going at all.

The subject was quickly changed to Scott and Allison's fixer-upper house and how they both thought it was just a nice way of saying "shithole", laughing once more over tales of what they'd witnessed in that place or stories they'd been told by the couple themselves. Stiles found himself smiling more than worrying, forgetting for a moment that they weren't actually on a random road trip with no destination in mind, that they were really in their way to Oak Creek to find his brother—and find him potentially no longer amongst the living.

~*~*~*~*~*~

An hour outside of Oak Creek and three hours north of Beacon Hills—or at least usually three hours, but for them on that day, it was more like four and a half—the highway split in two directions: the right leading towards the rest of Northern California, the left leading towards Oak Creek.

And _only_ Oak Creek.

A diner sat a mile or so before it, aptly named the Oak Fork Diner, and Stiles would always make a point to stop there on his trips to and from Stanford. The burgers were the right kind of big and greasy, the curly fries the perfect level of crispy, and drinks were always refilled before you got to the nasty diluted dregs created by the melted ice.

He and Lydia took a break there to stretch their legs and eat, he ordering his usual cheeseburger and curly fries while she opted for a small salad that wound up being the size of her head. They ate leaning in close to one another, quietly going over the rest of their plan. Well, Lydia did. Stiles just nodded and listened closely, ignoring his wolf's whimpers to get back on the road and quickly find his twin. His anxiety was back in full force, churning his stomach, and he only ate because of Lydia's glares and hissed out orders to do so.

He paid the check, smiling politely when the waitress-slash-cashier told him they were a cute couple, not wanting to set her straight. It would raise too many questions, concerns over why an omega was so far from home with an alpha, and one he didn't technically belong to--a phrase that caused his hackles to rise so fucking fast it was ridiculous. Keeping a cover of an unofficially Mated pair taking a road trip during their college break just made things a million times easier.

They hit up the gas station situated within the same parking lot, filling the tank and grabbing a couple drinks before hitting the road again, Lydia taking the left fork towards Oak Creek, the highway soon bracketed on either side by thick forests. Conversation hit a stand still, some pop tune Stiles didn't recognize playing low in the background, his wolf whimpering and clawing to get out. He ignored it as always, shuffling in his seat to get comfy, knee bouncing up and down, chewing a barely there hangnail on his thumb.

His anxiety seemed to ratchet up with every passing mile, every marker they went by. But it was more than that, more than just worry over his brother. There was a strange... _pulling_ in his chest, like someone had stuck a hook in his heart and was yanking at the rope, reeling him in to its source. He rubbed between his pecs but nothing made it go away, the sensation getting stronger the closer they got to Oak Creek.

But the most unsettling part of it was how his wolf wasn't unsettled at all. Yeah, it was still scratching and clawing inside his head like it could actually get out that way, but it wasn't out of agitation or anger. It was impatience, a need to get to wherever they were being pulled to, his tail wagging as he yipped excitedly with pricked ears and a lolling tongue.

None of it put Stiles at ease though and when they'd reached the halfway point down Oak Highway, he finally turned to Lydia to say something.

Only to pause with his lips parted at what he saw.

She was squirming in her seat, hand absently rubbing below her collarbone, spine stiff as she stared out the front windshield. Her arms were fully extended, elbows locked, like she was pushing back against the wheel for some reason.

Like she was pulling against whatever was tugging her in.

He turned and faced the front windshield, smearing a hand over his face, not entirely sure how to deal with the situation at hand. It was one thing when it was just him and he could chalk it up to growing anxiety as they neared their destination, that possible psychic link he had with his twin pulling him in and proving that Stu wasn't dead after all and he'd been freaking out over a made-up night terror.

But if Lydia was feeling it, too...

"So, uh," he began then paused, licking his lips and squirming a bit before continuing. "Does Oak Creek happen to be the Death Star and it's dragging us in with its tractor beam?" he questioned with a laugh, twisting his head to give her a smirk, trying for a lightheartedness he didn't completely feel.

"Don't be an idiot, Stiles," she snapped through gritted teeth, not moving her line of sight from the road before them, like glancing away for even a second would cause them to crash or someone to die or some other catastrophic event.

"Oh, come on, Lyds!" he cried out, arms flying up then landing on his lap with a smack. He turned in his seat to fully face her, leaning back against the door only to lean forward to get closer to her. "Seems like a legit question. I mean, you're feeling it, too, right?"

Her eyes narrowed as her jaw ground and her lips twisted in agitation. "Yeah."

Stiles scented the air, catching a whiff of her nerves and curiosity, but also a strange sort of calm rolling off her. Lydia nervous about something was enough to push him over the edge, yet the relaxed undertone to her scent was calming him, his omega nature soothed by an unruffled alpha.

Wringing the back of his neck, he glanced out the front windshield, noting a sign stating they were twenty-five miles from Oak Creek. His wolf let out a triumphant howl that he couldn't even begin to figure out the cause of, choosing just to brush it aside and focus on the convo at hand.

"And it's not freaking you out or making you wanna turn tail and run?" he asked dubiously, dropping his hand to wring his fingers together on his lap. "Since when does Lydia Martin charge head first into something scary and unknown?"

She shrugged and shook her head, playing it off. "Maybe you're just rubbing off on me," she teased, though it lacked the usual buoyancy of her normal jokes. When he didn't react, she sighed, flipping a hand. "Look , I have no idea what exactly is going on or what I'm feeling. All I know is that my wolf feels calm and like what I'm experiencing is right. So I'm going to keep driving down this godforsaken highway like nothing is wrong and like everything is going according to plan."

Stiles nodded, chewing a fingernail, thinking she made a lot of sense. Growing up, they'd all been taught to trust their wolves and their instincts, that their animal-half could sense things they couldn't and would never steer them wrong. So if his wolf was interpreting the strange pulling as something good, something right, then it had to be.

Slumping in his seat, he let out a sigh, knee bouncing once again. A sign showed they were now another mile closer, that tugging getting stronger, and he swallowed hard, eyes drifting shut while his head leaned back against the chair. He almost felt like he was adrift in the ocean, being pulled to safety by a life raft around his chest, his wolf assuring him that all would be okay. Opening his eyes to the trees zooming past and the road disappearing beneath them, he had no choice but to believe his animal half knew its shit and wasn't about to become the first wolf to lead its human down the wrong path.


	6. The S-Dubs.

The woods grew thicker and more densely packed about five miles outside of town and soon after, Stiles caught his first glimpse of Oak Creek's outer wall. The thing was huge, although from that distance, it was hard to tell exactly how tall it was, a flat dark gray standing out against green leaves and bright blue sky.

"I need you to do me a favor," Lydia requested softly, turning the music off and closing out the app. "As much as it'll pain you to do so, I need you to let me do all the talking." She glanced over at him with eyes that were a mix of serious and worried, manicured eyebrows slightly raised in the middle, lips barely parted. "If rumors about this place are true, then they're very old fashioned and won't appreciate an omega speaking out of turn."

His fingers curled into fists, nail beds tingling as his claws fought to come out. He hid his clenched jaw behind a fist, knee now bouncing out of aggravation rather than anxiety, but he nodded and went along with her nonetheless. He truly hated his dynamic, hated the restrictions put on him, and hated the reminder of both those things.

Lydia gave him a sympathetic smile, at least understanding that he wasn't all that thrilled with the plan and genuinely feeling bad that he had to deal with it. But really, what choice did they have? And shutting his mouth and playing the good, silent, well-behaved little omega was nothing compared to any sort of punishment she'd be in for once her mom found out about the falsified paperwork. Not to mention that cooperating and being on his best behavior meant the authorities at Oak Creek would be more likely to play nice right back and help them out.

For his brother, Stiles would do anything, including what he hated being the most.

Lydia reached over and scratched the back of his head, slender fingers sliding through his hair before her hand completely fell away and returned to the steering wheel. The small action helped placate him a little, his omega nature happy with the knowledge that he did well and had pleased the alpha he was in the car with.

The silence droned on, the car filled with the muffled sounds of the engine and the tires, music having been shut off a few miles back, allowing Stiles' mind to fill the empty spaces. That tugging sensation in his chest had gotten worse again, a palpable pulling and at times, it felt like he should actually see a rope around his torso hauling him in. He'd been able to ignore it at times, but it was getting harder to block it out, especially with his wolf now going crazier than before, excitement making it bounce around inside his head in a way it only did when nearing Beacon Hills during school breaks.

Fucking weird.

Then again, the past couple days had been nothing but strange, inexplicable events. Why would that day be any different?

The highway turned into a single lane road a mile from the wall and Lydia slowed down, doing half the speed she had been before finally completely stopping and putting the car in park outside the closed gate. Leaning forward, they both peered out the front windshield at the monolith that stood before them, the scents of awe and wariness filling the cabin.

The wall had to be about forty feet tall, made of solid concrete. The top was lined with barbed wire and when he rolled his window down, he could hear the low buzz of electricity, a sign warning about high voltage plastered every few feet down the line. The gate stood about a foot or so back from the wall, barbed wire lining the top of it, too, red lights on either side of it at the ends of the wall.

Lydia had rolled her own window down, reaching out to hit a button on the call box that stood at the side of the road inside a thick cement pillar. A loud buzz sounded out, Stiles raising an eyebrow before figuring it was a signal on the other end.

" _State your identity_ ," ordered a staticky female voice through the speaker, tone brokering no argument.

Shifting in her seat to get closer, Lydia leaned further out the window, speaking loud and clear into a hidden microphone. "Lydia Martin, alpha, and Stiles Stilinski, omega."

" _Swipe your ID cards_ ," was the next order, one complied by him opening up the storage compartment of the console and handing Lydia their IDs.

She leaned outside the window once more to swipe the cards through the reader, Stiles peering out his own to take in the wall once more. A camera was mounted halfway up the wall at the edge of the gate, aimed right at him, and when he checked the other side, he found a second one aimed at Lydia. Made sense really. Palo Alto had a similar set-up, only with shorter, less intimidating walls and an actual guard rather than a speaker box.

The speaker crackled as the woman on the other end hit the button to talk, drawing his attention back to it. " _It says Stilinski's name isn't Stiles, but—_ "

"Don't even bother trying to pronounce it," Lydia interrupted in a tone that was more harsh than helpful. "Even his own dad can't say it right."

An amused snort sounded out before the line went dead and he glanced at his friend to see if she knew what was going on. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, cards absently tapping against her nails, scent slightly nervous. Wringing the back of his neck, he let out a gusty exhale, staring out the front windshield.

"Knew I should've changed the name on my ID when I turned eighteen," he muttered, dropping his hand and slamming his head back against the seat.

"Why didn't you?" she asked quietly, no accusation or blame in her voice, just a friendly sort of curiosity.

He shrugged, gesturing helplessly. "Guess I was just waiting to find my Mate so I could change it all at the same time."

A small smile turned up the corner of her lips, the speaker crackling behind her once again, causing her to turn back to it.

" _Insert your Consent Forms for Visitation through the top slot of the scanner and make sure to catch it when it's released through the bottom one_ ," the female instructed with a sigh, sounding bored, like she'd recited that order way too many times and was frankly sick of it.

"Yeah," Lydia reluctantly began, pausing to lick her lips then turn them down in a slight apologetic pout. "We don't have any papers."

Stiles' head snapped to her at that, jaw hanging open in shock. He'd figured after the falsified ones to leave Beacon Hills she'd have something to allow them to enter Oak Creek. There was no way she hadn't thought ahead far enough to realize she'd need something at that moment. Lydia Martin was nothing if not overly prepared. Her excessive amount of luggage proved it.

" _Don't ha—_ " the female voice blurted out incredulously before seeming to catch herself, clearing her throat then continuing. " _State the purpose of your visit_ ," she ordered with a slight hint of curiosity and Stiles could picture a generic female—one who happened to resemble Deputy Graeme, the omega who manned the front desk at the Beacon County Sheriffs Department—leaning closer to the mike, eyebrow cocked in wonder and slight dubiousness.

"We're looking for Stiles' brother. Stuart Stilinski? We have reason to believe he's residing here now."

A small moment of silence occurred before the female instructed them to " _hold on a minute_ ", the speaker letting letting out a "fzzt" then going completely dead.

He kept his gaze locked on his friend as he gnawed in a fingernail, dying to comment on the lack of paperwork but knowing better than to say anything at that moment. Just because the mike had cut off from the other end didn't mean it was switched off on theirs. Last thing they needed was for the Oak Creek guards to overhear their convo about why Lydia hadn't faked anything for an entry like she had for an exit. Wouldn't help their arguments that they were trying to gain access to the city with good intentions and bore no ill will towards any of its residents.

Not that having zero paperwork at all helped against that argument either, but what other choice did they have at that moment?

The waiting dragged on, Stiles' anxiety ratcheting up. All he could think about was how busted they clearly were, how word must've gotten to his dad by that point, how the female guard was most likely on the phone with the sheriff telling on him or confirming their story with Lydia's mom. Maybe they were readying the troops on the other side of the gate, preparing to haul them in and arrest them for falsifying paperwork, for believing they were trying to get to the California Alpha. They were gonna head straight to jail, or worse: back to Beacon Hills to be incarcerated there under his dad's watch.

" _Sorry 'bout that_ ," the female's voice crackled through the speaker, making him jump as he was snapped back to reality. He took a deep breath to calm a heart that was racing for several different reasons, running a hand over the top of his head repeatedly. It was okay, everything was all good, they were fine.

As far as he knew. For the time being at least.

" _You're clear to head to the second checkpoint where a couple of S-Dubs will be waiting for you. Your safest bet is to head straight there with no delay. Speed limit is thirty-five and you're being timed._ " With that, the speaker clicked off with a resounding finality.

Stiles raised his eyebrows at her ominous words, realizing that the road had switched to a single lane to prevent anyone from turning around and head back the way they came. He briefly wondered what would happen if someone was trying to enter as another car exited, only to have his thought process cut off by a loud buzzing and a harsh clanging.

The lights on top of the wall turned green and started spinning as the gate trundled to the side with a loud grinding noise, revealing another long stretch of forested highway. When the gate was fully open, Lydia put the car in gear and drove forward, heeding the female guard's words and not delaying.

The gate closed automatically behind them, Stiles watching it in his side view mirror, the clang audible past the car's engine and the windows being electronically wound up. The pulling sensation intensified once more, but he ignored it in favor of focusing on something that was bothering him more.

"No paperwork?" he asked, finally feeling safe enough to do so.

She pressed her lips together, smudging her lip gloss, shrugging and shaking her head. "It's one thing to forge a County Alpha's signature on forms to leave our mid-level town. It's another thing entirely to do that in order to enter a maximum city where the State Alpha lives," she pointed out. "I'm not about to risk being arrested for treason just because I didn't ask my mom to let me come here."

He bobbed his eyebrows and seesawed his head, conceding her point. He'd figured that was the reason why but it was nice to have it confirmed, to know that Lydia had fully thought things through rather than flying off half-cocked like he tended to do, acting with only half a plan—if even that much.

Leaning back in his seat, he cupped his chin in his hand as he stared out the side window at the scenery, anticipation flowing through his veins, apprehension making his knee bounce. They'd finally made it, were inside Oak Creek. They were moments away from finding his brother and—

That stinging ache from that morning came roaring back to life and he clutched at his chest as he winced. Fuck, for two years all he could think about was finding Stuart and now that he was moments away from doing just that, he was scared. No, he was _terrified_. A strong sense of dread had taken over, an all-encompassing belief that he wasn't gonna like what he found, that he was gonna wind up feeling more heartbroken and damaged than ever before.

No. Fuck that. Like Lydia had said earlier, until they had one-hundred percent definitive and undeniable proof that Stuart was dead, they were gonna act like all was okay.

Didn't help ease the way Stiles' stomach was churning with nerves or how his heart was pounding in fear or how he was getting more anxious with each yard they passed by.

His wolf's excitement and that tugging sensation were making shit worse, causing him to feel torn between an intense need to hurry up and go faster, to get there sooner, and a sickening sort of dread and an overwhelming need to turn around and head home, to pretend none of it was happening and to live in denial that anything had happened to his brother.

Shit.

They drove for another twenty minutes or so before another wall came into view. While it was gray like the other, it was shorter, closer to fifteen feet, and not quite as thick. Electrified barbed wire also ran across the top of the second wall, the same red lights present, but the pillar with the speaker box was nowhere to be seen. Instead, an unmarked black SUV already sat there waiting, front end facing the gate, displaying a cage of lights across the top and a high end pulley on the back end. On either side of it stood a man dressed in all black, both holding rifles of some form in front of their bodies, not aimed at anything but at the ready should the need arise. They wore matching uniforms of black tactical pants, a black bulletproof vest over a black collared shirt, boots of the same color on their feet.

Lydia slowed down to a crawl, the man from the driver's side of the car—a taller, more muscular one with dark skin—stepping forward and holding a hand up to signal her to stop. She followed directions, putting the car in park as the second male—a tan guy probably about Stiles' height with dirty blond hair and light eyes—approached Stiles' window, tapping on it with a knuckle and signaling him to roll it down.

He did as he was told, heart pounding inside his chest, stomach twisting and turning with knots. But he kept his cool on the outside, easy-going smile on his face, knowing that if he acted too nervous, too panicky, it would be misinterpreted as guilt. And since he hadn't done anything wrong—except leave town without his alpha's permission and technically break the law but that didn't count—and wasn't planning on doing anything wrong, he had nothing to worry about.

At least, that's what the logical part of his brain side. The other, much _bigger_ part was focused on the broken laws and how it was possible they were completely busted at that moment.

Fuck.

"Stiles Stilinski?" the guard double-checked as he leaned down to look in the window, eyebrows raised in question.

Stiles just nodded, not trusting himself to actually say words, absently grabbing for his ID card as it sat on top of the armrest of the console with Lydia's.

The guard nodded once, accepting the non-verbal response, then peered around him to the driver's side. "Which would make you Lydia Martin, correct?"

Stiles turned to her, noting the other guard towering over that side of the car, his massive torso filling her whole window. Not that Lydia was paying him any attention. She was staring straight out the front windshield, hands gripping top of the steering wheel, pressing her lips together as she nodded.

He scented the air but didn't catch any nerves from her. Well, not an overwhelming amount at least. There was the usual amount to be expected when one's car was bracketed by armed guards, but overall she seemed somewhat relaxed, at ease, almost... calmed by something.

Stiles' brow furrowed in confusion at that. Alphas tended to be more high strung, more territorial, more defensive. If an alpha's car was surrounded by strangers, it would be seen as a threat to themselves and their property, especially when an omega was added to the mix. Lydia should've been growling under her breath, flashing red eyes and sporting claws. But instead, she was subdued, completely fine with the whole thing.

Okay, so Lydia wasn't the typical alpha and wasn't prone to flying off the handle the way some others did—except for one time before junior year when a deer crashed into her car and she flipped her shit screaming at the dead carcass laying across the hood of her Volkswagen. But he still expected her to do _something_ other than just sit there calm as hell.

She pursed her lips, letting out a flat "yep" before turning to her right to check out the other guard. Immediately upon making eye contact with him, her lips parted and her eyes widened, a gasp pulling air into her lungs. A similar sound came from behind and Stiles whipped his head around to find the guard with his eyes locked on Lydia, dreamy look in the yellow-green orbs, soft smile spreading across his features. Stiles turned back to see a grin on his friend's face that he honestly had never seen he wear before in all the years he'd known her.

But he had seen someone else wear it. Namely Scott when he first set eyes on Allison when she moved to Beacon Hills and again the day after his sixteenth birthday when he found out for sure that they were Mates.

Holy...

"Lydia," the guard murmured absently, like he was tasting the name on his tongue, smile still plastered on his face. "I'm Jordan."

"Nice to meet you, Jordan," she replied coyly, demure smile on her face and Stiles held back on the urge to roll his eyes and groan.

The two continued to smile at one another like idiots, the rest of the world not seeming to register with them. The air filled with the scents of joy and happiness and this warmth that could only be described as a peaceful homecoming and love. Stiles had caught that scent on Scott when he was with Allison, on Danny when he was with Ethan, and he figured one day, he'd smell it on Lydia.

He just didn't think it'd be any time soon.

He threw his arms in the air and sank lower in his seat, having no option but to sit there as the two of them made goo-goo eyes at one another across him. God, it was awkward. And envy-inducing. And really fucking irritating and rude, considering they were supposed to be heading further into town in order to try and find his brother. But he knew there was no chance in getting through to them, so he didn't even bother, choosing instead to stew in his own aggravation, knee bouncing and nail being gnawed on, settling in for a long wait.

"Parrish!"

Or not.

The guard now known as Jordan Parrish snapped out of it, head snapping back so fast that he wound up hitting it on the top of the open window. He hissed in pain, hand flying up in an instinctual reaction, as Lydia tried to rush over to him, only to be stopped by her seat belt.

"As heartwarming as this moment is," the other guard deadpanned from where he was now bent over and peering into the driver's window. "And as happy as I am for you that you found your Mate, we really need to go. Big Guy's gonna be back at HQ soon and he's gonna wanna meet him."

Stiles' eyebrows shot up to his hairline, lips parting as his jaw dropped. He had no clue who "Big Guy" was, if the omega was the one who wanted to meet him or vice versa and why, but he was inclined to go along with anything that anyone said if it got their cars moving and through the gate.

"Right," Parrish agreed, clearing his throat and smiling sheepishly at the two wolves still car-bound, eyes lingering on the female. He shot her a grin before slapping the roof of the car twice and pushing away, heading to the rear of the SUV.

His partner rolled his eyes and shook his head, then smeared a hand over his face. "We're gonna hook your car to the back of ours and lead you to our HQ so we can start the approval process," he explained, turning his head to the side to check on Parrish, who was now unwinding the cable from the roll attached to the bumper. "It's standard procedure," he continued as he turned back to the guests. "Nothing personal. We have to do it with all visitors, especially those without the right paperwork." At that, his dark eyes focused on Stiles, giving him a significant look the omega couldn't interpret. But before he could ask, the guard pushed away from the car and strode over to his partner, the two murmuring quietly as they worked.

It wasn't long before the two cars were hooked together, Parrish shouting further instructions and Lydia putting her sedan in neutral, smiling coyly the whole time. The SUV started up, brake lights flipping on and the gate sliding open.

"So," Stiles began, smirk on his face. "That's him, huh? No wonder you didn't wanna share any details."

She did her best to glare at him, barely able to fight off the smile but perfectly managing to reach over and punch him repeatedly. The hits were light, no alpha strength behind them, and he found himself laughing more than hurting.

"Shut. Up. Stiles," she ordered with each hit, grin breaking through momentarily. She sobered up when the dark skinned guard waved his hand out the driver's side window, she returning the gesture. She moved her foot from the brake to the gas as the lights on the SUV cut off, rolling forward through the gate. "But just so you know," she began when he grew serious once again. "I'm not gonna let whatever may be between me and Jordan stop me from helping you out, okay? I promise I won't just leave you to handle anything alone." Reaching over, she took one of his hands in hers and squeezed it, glancing between him and the windshield, the gravity of her vow evident in her eyes.

"I know, Lyds," he assured her, squeezing right back and giving her a smile. And while he did know it in his heart, it was nice to hear it out loud. He had a feeling he was gonna need her to be by his side the whole time they were in Oak Creek.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The S-Dubs Headquarters was a nondescript cement block building erected against a third wall—another ten minute drive from the previous one—to the right of the gate. A metal awning stretched out over the sidewalk from the front door, a small parking lot with another similar SUV located at the other end.

The guard who was driving stuck his hand out to signal a turn then a stop, pulling them up along the front of the building with Lydia's sedan lined up with the sidewalk. She put it in park, killing the engine when the SUV's cut off, then remained seated with Stiles as they awaited further instructions.

He glanced around, taking in his surroundings, noting the thick growth of trees surrounding the lot and the road, the small patches of grass on either side of the walkway, small shrubs lining the building that looked pretty but were more than likely prickly when touched, while petunias ran along the cement path. Two windows were on either side of a metal door, darkened with tint and impossible to see in, but Stiles had the distinct feeling that someone was peeking out of one, curious about the new arrivals. It's what he would do if he was inside.

Then again, his dad always said he was a nosy little shit, so there was that.

The guards exited their vehicle, the driver reaching inside to grab the AR that matched the one his partner was already holding before shutting his door, Parrish continuing something he must've been saying inside the car, Stiles catching the tail end of how someone "can kiss my ass now", said with a proud smirk. The twosome headed straight for the two feet of space between the cars, presumably to unhook them, only to step over the cable and continue on their way, stopping outside the opposite sedan's doors. The darker skinned male gestured for them to get out while shaking his head in amusement at his partner, stepping back as Stiles opened his door.

He glanced over the top of the car to watch Parrish helping Lydia out, the newly discovered Mates exchanging goo-goo eyes and grins, Stiles once again resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he peered up at the guard next to him, seeing how the larger male was giving in to the action, but with a fond smile on his face. Stiles found his eyes drawn to the left side of his neck, where a recently refreshed Claiming Bite stood out just below the crook of his jaw. The omega surreptitiously scented him, catching a whiff of beta, wolf, and a second beta of a more female persuasion.

The guard cocked an eyebrow at him and Stiles' eyes widened before he snapped his gaze away, guilty at having been caught. The towering beta let out a noncommittal grunt before shrugging it off and speaking flatly, features stoic and almost bored.

"Please turn around, put your hands on top of the vehicle, and spread your legs."

Stiles turned back to him, raising his own eyebrow in question, recognizing the instructions. "You gonna frisk me?" he questioned, voice slightly teasing.

The beta was unamused, looking down at him with an expression he often saw his dad wear, face telling him not to give him that shit. " _I_ won't be," he corrected, peering over the top of the car.

Stiles spun around to find out what he was looking at, staring past Lydia's flirty smile as she assumed the position for Parrish. A distant beep sounded out, the door opening and a lanky male stepping out. He wore an identical outfit as the others, the black standing out stark against pale skin and dirty blond curls. He didn't carry an AR, but his hand was on a holstered pistol at his right hip, a second one attached to his left thigh. As he drew closer, Stiles could make out light eyes and high cheekbones, an almost cherubic look to his slender face and sharp features.

" _Lahey_ is gonna frisk you," the unnamed guard stated, pointing at his approaching coworker.

Stiles frowned in confusion before it dawned on him. The unknown guard was a beta while Stiles very much wasn't and Lydia had pointed out earlier that Oak Creek was very traditional in its views on omegas. Which meant that no one of any other dynamic was gonna touch him. Except for his Mate, but since he hadn't found the guy yet, that was a moot point.

Lahey passed between the two cars, bobbing his head in Parrish's direction, and drew to a stop next to the dark skinned guard, giving him the same nod. He was maybe an inch or so taller than Stiles, but still shorter than the beta guard, scent carrying the distinct aroma of omega as well as a heavy dose of alpha, like his Mate had scent-marked the crap out of him before letting him leave the building. Made sense considering the red Claiming Bite featured prominently on the left side of his neck, like it had been refreshed only moments before.

"Hey, Boyd," he greeted his coworker, voice a professional tone with just a slight hint of curiosity. The mentioned beta just nodded his head in acknowledgment of the greeting, dark eyes still trained on the visitor. Lahey followed his line of sight, his own blue eyes widening and lips parting as shock overtook his scent.

"Jesus Christ, Erica wasn't kidding," he muttered absently, like he had no clue he was even saying the words out loud, eyes roaming Stiles' face, scent now a mix of surprise, wonder, and sorrow.

Stiles chose to ignore the chemosignals the guy was giving off, focusing instead on his words. “Erica?” he questioned, brow furrowed. “Who's Erica? What was she not kidding about?”

Boyd gave his coworker an unimpressed look, blaming him for Stiles' outburst, sighing harshly before turning to the visitor. “The female at intake that you spoke to over the comm?” he reminded him, waiting until the omega nodded to show he understood. “That's Erica.” A small smile turned up the corner of his lips at her name, scent blossoming with something warm and sweet, leading Stiles to the conclusion that she was Boyd's Mate.

Stiles nodded again, waiting for more of an explanation but getting nothing. “Okay, and what wasn't she kidding about?”

The beta huffed, folding his arms over his chest, putting biceps the size of his head on display, AR now hanging from a strap off his shoulder. “Would you just assume the position so we can get this over with? We have more important shit to deal with than a nosy omega sticking his nose where it's not supposed to go.” He raised his eyebrows in a pointed look, daring the shorter male to argue or backchat or try any sort of shit.

The visitor licked his lips as he nodded, eyes darting away and breaking eye contact first. He was dying to find out what Erica hadn't been kidding about, what other important shit it was that they had to deal with, if it had anything to do with the Meeting.

If it had anything to do with his brother and that's why Lahey had looked so stunned to see Stiles standing there.

But he had a feeling he'd already pushed his luck far enough and given the size of the dark-skinned guard before him, pushing it any further would result in something on his body being broken or busted. Keeping his mouth shut, he turned around and put his hands on top of the sedan, legs spread, coming into Lydia's line of sight. She gave him a wide-eyed glare, jaw hard and lips pursed in anger. He'd seen that look a lot over the years they'd known each other, was able to translate it as her being completely unable to believe that he'd just done what he just did. Which, in this case, was totally throw her warning out the fucking window and speak out of turn despite his status.

Whoops.

The frisk was quick and efficient, Lahey now a little more familiar with Stiles' junk that he wanted anyone to be—Mate aside, of course. Satisfied he was clean, the omega guard stepped back and nodded to the taller one before passing between the two cars, hand back on his still-holstered pistol.

“You're clean,” Boyd announced, gesturing to the front door with an open hand. “Let's go.”

Not needing to be told twice, Stiles got his ass in gear and rounded the front of the car, joining Parrish and Lydia before they all walked single file towards the entrance, Lahey ahead of them on the sidewalk, Boyd bringing up the rear, rifle back in his hands. The omega guard pulled an ID on a retractable cord from his belt, sliding it through a card reader on a small black box by the door. The box beeped, a red light flipped to green, and a loud “thunk” sounded out, the locks disengaging. He held the door open, gesturing everyone in with a sweep of the arm, Parrish leading the way.

They entered a brightly lit room, the vestibule caged on all sides, sterile white walls a foot or so on the other side, the generic gray tiles with flecks of white and black making up the floors. Another armed guard in all black stood on the other side of the caged gate, scent full of aggressive alpha and something familiar that Stiles couldn't quite place but swore he fucking knew.

Once the main door was closed behind them all, Parrish scanned his card, the gate buzzing, lights above it switching colors before another clunk of locks opening sounded out. He swung the gate open and walked through, standing on the opposite side of it from the alpha, giving Stiles a good view of the guy over Lydia's petite form, his jaw dropping and eyes widening in shock.

“Jackson?” Lydia squeaked out, frozen where she stood. Not that he could blame her. She'd been just as in the dark about the guy's whereabouts as Stiles had been, Danny the only one with any info and not spilling a damn thing. And now, four years later, she was coming face to face with an ex she'd thought could've possibly been her Mate if it weren't for her Dream telling her otherwise.

Holy shit.

All the rumors flashed through his head, mind dismissing the illogical ones that didn't fit. Insane asylum was out, so was alien abduction—not that that one ever had any real credibility behind it, but it'd been fun to joke about how it wasn't possible since even aliens wouldn't wanna put up with Jackson's ass. Reform school and military enrollment were both still possibilities, especially given Jackson's new role as an S-Dub—which Stiles wasn't entirely sure what that was, but given the soldier aesthetic they were all rocking, it was some sort of military.

The guy looked pretty much exactly how Stiles had remembered him: same douchy hair cut, same angular jaw and sharp cheekbones, same tan complexion and blond hair/ blue eyes combo. The only real difference Stiles could see was a Claiming Bite on the left side of his neck, right in the middle, rather than high and proud like Lahey's and Boyd's.

Jackson's eyes went wide at the sight of his ex standing before him, clearly the last person he'd been expecting to be on the other side of that gate. The blue orbs then flicked up to Stiles, square jaw ticking slightly at the sight of him. Old habits, the omega figured, something he used to justify the fact that he took a step back at the blond's expression.

Confusion swirled the air around them, mixed with the surprise coming from the three old friends, although no one really said or did anything beyond Lydia's exclamation of the guy's name. The alpha moved his eyes back to her, softening slightly at the edges, small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Hey, Lyds,” he greeted her softly, in a tone Stiles hadn't heard him use...ever, really. He didn't think the asshole was capable of such tenderness or caring. He'd always found Jackson and Lydia's relationship contentious at best, filled with more friction than anything, and he never really understood why they were together in the first place, beside the stereotypical need for the hot popular female to be with a hot popular male. He could've told them from the get-go it wouldn't have worked out, if for no other reason than they were both alphas, but he had a feeling his words would've just been pushed aside and regarded as a jealous little omega trying to split them up so he could have one of them to himself.

Which, okay, might've been a little true, but didn't make his reasoning any less true.

The soft smile didn't go unnoticed, a territorial sort of aggression hitting Stiles from two different directions. But if Jackson or Lydia were aware of it—which they had to be 'cause it was making the omega's wolf whimper and he wasn't even the target of those emotions—they didn't acknowledge it, continuing on in their own little world.

As always.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered harshly, stepping forward, stopping just outside the gate's threshold. Her arms folded over her chest and Stiles could perfectly picture her wide-eyed glare as she wordlessly forced him to submit and do her bidding, dynamics be damned.

Jackson's brows furrowed into a frown as he looked down at her, slinging the strap of his AR over his shoulder and letting it hang. “I work here.”

Aggravation rolled off her in waves, hip cocking out and toe tapping on the tile. “ _I meant_ ,” she ground out. “In Oak Creek.”

He opened his mouth to answer, only to shut it with a frown, folding his own arms over his chest. “I could ask you the same thing, and considering the fact that you're the visitors and I'm an S-Dub, I'm more likely to get an answer than you are.”

Stiles raised his hand to interrupt and ask what exactly an S-Dub was, only to clamp his mouth shut and drop it. Omegas couldn't speak out of turn there, he remembered at the last minute, and despite having a history with Jackson, he didn't think a vague-semblance of a friendship would save him from breaking any societal rules.

Damn.

“Wait,” Parrish interrupted, hand held up, gaining the attention of the two exes. “You guys all know each other?”

The blood seemed to drain from Jackson's face, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. The scent of guilt joined the others in the air, his blue eyes flicking to Lydia momentarily before focusing on his coworker. Stiles hid a smile behind his hand, enjoying the sight of Jackson seeming to have been busted with something and squirming under the hard stare of the one who'd caught him.

“Yeah,” he replied weakly, shifting his feet, clearing his throat. “They're from my hometown. Lydia and I used to date and Stiles and I—” He paused, and the omega had a feeling it wasn't due to the second wave of aggressive territorialism. “We had the same group of friends.”

Parrish slowly nodded once, frowning thoughtfully, lips slightly parted as he analyzed the other S-Dub. “So you can vouch for them?”

Another throat clearing by the blond, followed by a nod and a quick “Yes, sir.” Stiles was enjoying a thrown off Jackson a lot. _A lot_.

“Good,” Parrish summed up, turning to Lydia, soft smile of his own on his face as he moved between her and Jackson in a not so sly move. “Having a citizen of the city vouch for you will make your processing quicker and easier and you'll be free to go about your business sooner.”

She nodded in response before moving aside, he moving with her, Stiles finally able to step out of the vestibule with the other two guards following, the gate shutting behind them. He peered around the space, noting a reception area set into the wall in front of them with a door on either side, glass enclosing it, TV monitors in the background showing black and white camera feeds of the outside of the building. Turning, he noted how the area stretched down either side of the corridor they'd just walked through, the space almost feeling like the waiting area of a doctor's or dentist's office. The right side held several vinyl chairs, a couple end tables covered in magazines, a TV playing some random afternoon chat show he didn't recognize with the volume a bar or two above mute, closed captions rolling along the bottom of the screen. The left contained a couple vending machines, one full of the standard junk snacks, one for bottled drinks, a third for coffee, table with sugars and creamers to the side of it. He just barely resisted the urge to sneak over and fill a cup of the hot and caffeinated for himself.

A door to the left of the reception alcove opened up, a curvy blonde striding in wearing the same tactical pants and shirt as everyone else, minus the vest and AR. A smartphone was in her hand, dark shadowed eyes trained down at it as she pushed the door shut without looking, finger tapping the screen as she walked over. “Big Guy is on his way. He's about fifteen minutes out,” she informed them, voice familiar yet Stiles couldn't quite place it. “Aidan's coming with him. Braeden, Malia, and Cora are staying put to supervise everything in the woods. Can't get a hold of Laura or Big Mama Alpha, but that's to be expected given all the shit that's happening here lately.”

She drew to a stop by their little group, Boyd automatically moving to her side. Stiles looked her over while she was distracted, noting plump lips painted red to match her nails, brown eyes the color of milk chocolate. A rectangular patch sat above the pocket on the left side of her shirt, white letters spelling “ _REYES-BOYD_ ”, leading him to believe it was a nametag of sorts.

Which was when he realized that she must've been Erica and that her voice was familiar 'cause he'd heard it over the intercom at the first wall.

Yeah, she definitely didn't look anything like the slightly mousy, darker skinned Deputy Graeme. More like “Wolfmate of the Year” potential.

Locking her phone, she slipped it into a pocket on her thigh before finally raising her eyes, letting out a gasp as they came across Stiles. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened as they roamed him, lips flapping up and down as she tried to say something, only to wind up muttering out a “holy shit”.

“Yeah,” Lahey agreed with a sigh, standing over by Jackson who was still looking very much like a kid busted lying about a missing cookie. “We pretty much all had the same reaction.”

Stiles and Lydia exchanged confused frowns, the redhead being the one to voice what they were both thinking. “What reaction?”

“Stiles looks exactly like him,” Erica murmured absently, still staring at the omega.

His heart began pounding, wolf yipping with excitement, stomach churning and twisting in knots. There was only one person on the planet they could've been talking about, one person Stiles looked exactly like, which meant that his theory had been right: Stuart had come to Oak Creek.

Stepping closer, he forgot all about protocol and societal expectations and all that bullshit, swallowing hard before speaking. “You know Stuart?” he asked shakily, finger trembling as he pointed at her. Excitement and anticipation were rushing through his veins, feeling closer than ever. Not only had he found the right town, but he'd managed to stumble upon people who actually knew who his brother was, could lead him to Stu and reunite them and Stiles could help him and—

“ _Knew_ ,” Lahey corrected, stopping Stiles' heart dead in his chest and causing his racing thoughts to crash to a halt. “And yeah, we did.”

Past tense.

Oh. God, no.

The dread from earlier came back five-hundred fold, tightening his chest, numbing his body to the point where all he could feel was his stomach churning and rolling and thrashing inside him and he felt like he could puke right then and there on that floor.

“Knew?” he choked out, hoping like hell he was wrong, hoping like hell _Lahey_ was wrong. He mentally shot a long, pleading, begging prayer to a god he didn't believe in, wanting nothing more than for all of it to be just another incredibly realistic, incredibly fucked up dream.

“Oh, hun,” Erica began softly, sympathetically, and all he could do was shake his head.

He was deep in denial, muttering out a constant stream of “no”s as he backed away. He could sense people parting, moving so he didn't bump into them, only stopping when he felt a wall against his back, still muttering as he flattened his body, his hands against it. She wasn't about to say it, he wasn't about to hear it. Stuart was fine, was okay, was _alive_. He'd feel it if he wasn't.

But hadn't he already felt it? Hadn't he been feeling it all damn day, ever since that godforsaken dream?

Feeling it was one thing though. Having it confirmed out loud was another and he'd been happy going along with Lydia's plan of acting like everything was fine and Stuart was okay until it was proven otherwise. Anything anyone was about to say would burst that bubble and force him to deal with reality, to realize that what he'd been feeling was true.

Erica peered up at her Mate, who nodded once at her wordless question. Pressing her lips together, she looked at him with watery eyes and suddenly the whole place reeked of loss and despair and Stiles was definitely gonna throw up. His knees felt weak and his head felt fuzzy and everything was blurring at the edges of his vision. Suddenly his chest was too tight, his lungs not working, and he was hyperventilating more than breathing, panic worming its way into his chest cavity and taking over.

“Sweetie, Stuart's dead. His body was found out in the woods this morning.”

Stiles let out a pained grief-stricken roar so loud he was sure they heard it back in Beacon Hills.


	7. The Interview.

Stiles had gone completely numb sometime after that. He'd spent most of his day in denial that anything was wrong and convinced it was just his usual paranoia that had him believing something had happened to Stuart. It helped him get through the morning, helped him deal with the long car ride, helped him curb his impatience, helped him drift off into a peaceful slumber.

But now that he'd been told otherwise...

Now that he knew the truth...

That stinging, burning ache in his soul was back, flaring to life with a vengeance and feeling twice as hot. He was vaguely aware that he was still hyperventilating, that Lydia was rubbing his arms and telling him to breathe, that he was in the midst of a panic attack in front of all these people, these strangers. But just as quickly as it'd come on, it stopped. He didn't have anything to panic about, didn't have anything to worry over. His worst fear about his twin had come to fruition and there was no way it could get any worse.

Stuart was dead. That was it. Game over, no reset button, no extra lives. Done. Forever.

The numbness set in sometime after that, the burning sting in his gut icing out and leaving a frigid hollowness in its wake. He thought about all those legends that said that twins were one soul that was so grand, so powerful, so incredible that it couldn't be contained in one body, so it split into two. Stuart had said it was bullshit, was just some old hippie story told by cavewolves to amuse themselves before books, TV, or the internet, but Stiles kind of believed it. It explained how he knew when something was bothering his twin, even when Stu didn't say anything. It explained how they could feel one another's physically pain, and it wasn't just psychosomatic bullshit out of sympathy but genuine pain. It explained why neither one of them needed to say a damn word to express themselves, despite having created a language only they understood.

It explained why Stiles was so convinced that his dream wasn't a dream, but Stuart subconsciously reaching out to his twin during his final moments.

It explained why Stiles now felt like half of himself, like there was a giant vital piece inside of him that was missing.

His wolf had gone strangely quiet, wrapped up in a ball with its nose buried in its tail and its ears flopped down against its head. It knew something was wrong, something was missing, that the human-half was upset and felt broken, its misery a direct reflection of Stiles'. He thought of the cliche about misery loving company and mentally let out a hollow laugh, then wondered if he'd ever laugh out loud again, if it would ever feel real and genuine like it had before.

He'd managed to do it after his mom's death—granted it had taken a long time, but eventually he could laugh and joke and goof off like he had before, if not in a more subdued fashion. His friends and family could tell it wasn't exactly the same as before but no one ever called him out on it or made it into a big deal. They all understood what a huge loss he'd suffered and to be completely himself after was an insult to his mom's memory, like losing her didn't even matter.

But losing her was different than losing Stuart. He'd still had his dad and his brother after her death, had people to fall back on, had someone next to him who completely understood what he was going through and helped eased the pain of her loss. This was worse. This was losing his soul and there was no one around to help or understand or relate. He was alone, and would be for the rest of his life.

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, his next exhale shuddering out of him. Why'd it have to be Stu? He was the better twin, the more attractive one, the smarter one, the one with all the potential in the world. The one with a Mate.

Oh fuck. Stu had a Mate. The guy had to be beside himself with grief, feeling like he'd lost a huge part of himself. His mind flooded with flashes of memories of his dad after his mom's death, of how hollow and empty he'd looked, staring vacantly as he went about his day like a zombie in a trance—if he even left the bed in the first place. He was there physically, but not emotionally or mentally, solely going through the motions of what he was supposed to do. He'd nearly lost his job as sheriff, nearly had his kids taken away, and it was only the threat of losing even more that had snapped him out of it and brought him back to reality. But he still hadn't been the same dad, still wasn't fully present, and to that day, Stiles will still catch him staring blankly at nothing, lost in the past and his grief.

Stiles imagined that Stu's Mate—Derek, his mind supplied—had to be the same way, only to remember his twin's warning email.

" _Mates don't always mean happy ever after._ "

His dream from the night before was of his brother being killed by an alpha and he just knew deep down inside that that alpha had been Stu's Mate, that Derek had killed his twin.

His fingers clenched into a fist where they were hanging off his knees, legs drawn up close to his body, left hand tugging at his own hair. A new sort of resolve took over and he was no longer in Oak Creek to find his brother, but to find his murderer, to prove that Derek was the one who'd slashed open his throat and ended his life.

He was dimly aware of his name being called, his eyes opening without even knowing when he'd closed them, coming across Lydia as she crouched in front of him. Her hands were resting gently on the sides of his knees, eyes watery with unshed tears, lips pressing and rolling together in a move he knew was her trying not to cry. Grief and sorrow were thick scents in the air, joined by Lydia's sympathy and worry over Stiles, her green eyes flicking back and forth between his whiskey ones, analyzing him.

She sniffed, cleared her throat, voice still holding its usual rasp with an added thickness. "They wanna know if you want a few minutes alone in an interview room before the intake process, just take some time by yourself to deal,” she asked lowly, tremulously, words meant only for him.

He met her eyes, held the gaze steadily, not backing down. "I'm fine,” he croaked out, a surreal sort of confidence behind his words. He should feel and sound weaker, should sound more broken, should be sobbing and crying and breaking down in front of everyone. But he wasn't. He just...was.

"Stiles, you're not fine,” she argued, hard look in her eyes.

He sighed, eyes closing as his head tilted back, suddenly very tired and very much not in the mood for a debate. "Lyds. I just wanna get this over with."

"You have to grieve at some point, have to accept—"

"I've been accepting it all day,” he interrupted flatly, eyes snapping open. “I'm. Fine.”

She pursed her lips and worked her jaw in a move he recognized as her aggravated face, lifting her hands from his legs and gesturing. “Fine,” she fumed, slapping her hands against her thighs before rising up to her full height, stepping away from him and standing halfway between him and the group of S-Dubs who were lingering a few feet away.

Nodding once, he pushed himself up to his feet, brushing off the back of his khakis and peering at the group that was fanned out. All wore matching expressions of worry and sympathy, grief visible in their eyes and scent. Erica had her arms wrapped around herself in a protective manner, as though she was holding herself together. Boyd held her tucked into his side, arm around her shoulders, hand rubbing up and down her arm as he studied Stiles with an inscrutable expression. Lahey stood with his head ducked down staring at the ground, fidgeting back and forth between his feet, sniffing every now and then. Jackson was near him, eyes darting back and forth between Lahey, Stiles, and Lydia, brow pulled in a sympathetic expression Stiles didn't think he was capable of. Parrish's face was more analytical, lips parted as he studied Stiles, as he tried to figure out if the insistence of being okay was genuine or just an act, if he was about to blow and they were all gonna be caught in the blast and destroyed by the shrapnel.

“Let's just go,” Stiles sighed out, longing for the whole thing to be over with so he could get on with his next mission: finding his twin's Mate and killer.

"Are you sure?” Parrish questioned, head tilted towards the omega in expectation. After getting a nod in response, he double-checked with Lydia, who threw her arms in the air in exasperation before placing them on her hips and nodding, too, face still twisted in annoyance. “Okay, then,” he dismissed with a bob of his eyebrows, turning to his coworkers, face all business. “Lahey, you process Stiles, Boyd, you take care of Lydia. Erica, you get back on the cams and gates. Jackson, you're on front desk and I'm sure the Captain is gonna wanna talk to you about knowing these guys and therefore probably knowing Stuart. I'll search Lydia's car and update the Big Guy on all that's happened."

Everyone nodded as they took in their orders, Jackson wincing at the reminder that he'd been caught in a lie.

Erica cocked an eyebrow at Parrish as she turned her head to him, blonde curls swinging with the motion. "You really think bugging him right now is a good idea?"

Parrish snorted, head rocking with the noise. "No, but what choice do we have?"

She seesawed her head in concession, running a hand through her hair. “Point,” she admitted, sighing, then kissing her Mate on the cheek and stepping away. She gave Stiles one last sorrowful look, sympathetic smile on her face, then headed back to the door she'd come from, scanning her ID and disappearing behind the metal.

Everyone took that as their cue to split, Jackson heading to the same door Erica had just exited from, Parrish turning and making his way outside. Boyd led Lydia to a metal door on the right side of the reception alcove, doing the whole scan ID card thing before they walked through the threshold, the door closing behind them from the weight.

Lahey turned to Stiles, gesturing with his head to follow him. The visitor nodded once and followed through the same door, on his way to deal with whatever bullshit was next.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He went through the entire intake process like a zombie, only halfway present, barely taking in what was happening to him. His fingerprints were scanned digitally, his photo taken, then blood drawn, mentions of “tox screens” and “checking for pathogens and diseases” fuzzily registering in his mind.

But he perfectly heard Lahey's declaration of “sorry for your loss” while the vial was filling with his blood, the quiet words snapping Stiles back into the present with a jerk. He stared wide-eyed at the other omega for a moment before the lids went back to their usual half-mast. He hadn't heard those words in years and responded the way he had back when people told him that after his mom's death: with a nod and a forced half-smile. Anything else would be disingenuous and bullshit.

Vial plugged and labeled, Lahey led Stiles down the hall to what he called the interview room, gesturing him inside and leaving him alone with the statement that someone would be in soon to talk to him, giving him another small smile before closing the door behind himself. The room looked a lot like the interrogation rooms at the sheriff's station back home, walls comprised of dark gray cement blocks, two-way mirror beside the door, a metal table bolted to the ground with three chairs placed around it. There were no windows, a fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling, the low hum of electricity filling the space.

Stiles scented the lingering smells of previous occupants, old chemosignals of fear and guilt and anxiety. It was as though the smells had soaked into all the cement around him, stuck there permanently. The interrogation rooms back in the sheriff's department were the same way and he'd once jokingly asked if it was purposely done as an intimidation tactic, as a way to put suspects on edge and force their hands. His dad had stared at him dubiously. Stuart had rolled his eyes.

The thought of his brother made his chest clench and he dug the heel of his hand between his pecs, scuffing his feet against the ground as he slowly made his way around the table. Sinking down onto one of the chairs, he buried his face in his hands, elbows on the table, reality slowly sinking in. He was never gonna see his brother roll his eyes at him again, was never gonna hear his cynical thoughts as he argued something, was never gonna beg the guy to look up from his phone or his laptop or whatever other device his face was buried in at that moment. It was depressing enough when it wasn't happening just because the guy was missing and it was unclear if he'd be able to look his twin in the eye, but knowing there was a chance it might happen again. But now? It was a thousand times worse knowing for complete sure that it definitely wasn't gonna happen.

Shit.

The door opened and he peered up to see Lydia walk in alone, dropping his forearms onto the table. The annoyance was gone from her face and her scent, replaced with a genuine concern and worry. Her heels clicked on the hard floor as she strode over and lowered herself down onto the empty chair to his right, sitting so she was facing him. He didn't look at her though, just stared down at his hands as one shook up and down, tapping at the air.

“I knew he was dead,” he rasped lowly, voice thick, words heavy. “I could just feel it. I tried to do like you said, tried to act like everything was okay until proven otherwise, but I just. _Knew_.”

She licked her lips and rubbed them together, sniffing. “You think that dream was Stuart reaching out to you,” she stated, not asked, already knowing his answer.

He nodded, free hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. And I have a good feeling I know who killed him.”

“' _Mates don't always mean happy ever after_ ',” she quoted the email, well aware of what he was inferring.

More nodding, but he didn't get the chance to comment further. The door opened once again, this time with Parrish making his way through, manila folder in his hands. The kevlar vest was gone, revealing a black tactical shirt with a black patch over the left chest pocket, “ _PARRISH_ ” stitched on in all white letters. Lydia's scent blossomed automatically at the sight of him and Stiles didn't have it in him to be annoyed with her lack of sympathy towards his current situation. It wasn't like she had any control over it, so it wasn't really her fault. Besides, someone needed to have something positive come out of this shit-show of a road trip and after everything she'd done for him so far, she deserved happiness and a good Mate.

Parrish pulled out the chair across the table from them, sinking down and placing the folder on the metal surface. He folded his hands on top of it, gave Lydia a small smile, light green eyes sparkling, then turned to Stiles with a now-familiar sympathetic expression on his face. “I'm so sorry about your brother,” he stated genuinely, brow pulled in sorrow. “He was a good guy and definitely didn't deserve to be taken so soon.”

Frowning in confusion, Stiles analyzed the man across from him, not catching a lie. He was completely honest in his statement, truly believed that Stuart had been a good guy—which he had been—the words not coming across as something pre-scripted to say to someone who'd just lost someone close to them. “You knew my brother?” he asked, voice still thick.

The S-Dub nodded. “He worked here actually, mainly the comm for the outer gate and the front desk, but he did a lot of work on our computer system.” A wistful smile formed on his face at a memory only he was aware of. “He was a whiz with anything technological, helped us upgrade our systems, kept everything running, even helped us program our personal smartphones.” A small laugh gusted out of him at that, grin growing just a tad, scent amused for a brief moment before turning sad once more. “Yeah. Great guy. Kinda cynical and kept to himself a lot, not all that social, more of a homebody than anything, but still. He's gonna be missed by a lot of people.”

The omega swallowed hard, cupping his fingers in front of his mouth. It was surreal to hear a stranger talk about his brother like that, to clearly know him so well when Stiles had only just met the guy himself. He was used to it in his hometown, to friends and acquaintances talking about Stuart in that manner, but to hear it out the mouth of someone from another city? Just weird.

And it seemed like Stu was exactly the same as he'd always been. Stiles had been the one to drag him to parties—mainly because he was being dragged by Scott, who was interested in going solely due to the prospect of Allison being there—to hang out with friends, to do something that didn't involve any sort of technological device and a wifi connection. But Stu was still cynical, still a loner, still preferred staying in to going out. He was himself to the very end.

Stiles wasn't sure why that surprised him. He figured with his twin having run away and hiding out that he would've taken on a whole new identity and become someone else. Clearly he'd been watching too many movies and had gotten caught up in the Hollywood dramatization of the whole thing. He and Stu both knew working undercover was more successful if you kept some aspects of yourself in your new cover, things like your actual first name, parts of your personality, your own likes and dislikes. Lies worked better when surrounded by small pockets of the truth.

He wondered what other truths Stu used in his new life, if he told anyone about where he'd come from, who his family was, why he'd run. It was clear he was hiding some parts of it, like knowing Jackson, given the surprised way everyone reacted when it was revealed the blond knew Stiles. But a small part of him was curious to know if Stu ever mentioned him or their dad and what was said about them. He wondered what it would mean if he _had_ been hidden, if his brother never spoke about his life back home. It probably wouldn't have been anything personal, most likely just a way to cover his tracks and continue to hide from whoever he believed was after him or another way he was trying to protect what was left of his family since he seemed to believe they were in just as much danger as he was.

Still, a small part of Stiles was hurt by the idea that he'd been hidden away.

Then again, no one seemed surprised that Stuart had a brother. Erica hadn't questioned them over the comm system by the first gate when they mentioned they were searching for him. If anything, people were surprised they looked so much alike, meaning Stu most likely hadn't told them they were twins, just that he had a brother.

“He ever mention me?” he questioned lowly, almost worried about the answer.

“Sorta,” Parrish admitted, seesawing his head. “He let it slip that he had a brother, but never told us your name or that you guys were twins. That's why everyone was so taken aback when we saw you for the first time. We weren't expecting you to look so alike.”

He nodded, figuring that had been the case. Seemed like typical Stu really.

“Did you—?” the guard started then paused, curiosity coloring his scent. “There are rumors and stories that twins, especially identical ones, that they can feel each other's pain. Did you feel it when—?” He cut himself off, not mentioning the obvious but letting the inference hang in the air.

Stiles swallowed hard, pain flaring in his chest. He felt an echo of the ripping, tearing, burning sensation he'd experienced when he'd woken up in the middle of the night, when he just knew that his twin had been killed. “It felt like my soul was being torn from my body,” he rasped, eyes focused on his hands as his fingers tangled on top of the table.

The thick scent of sorrow hit him, an underlying note of regret joining it. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you.”

The omega shrugged it off, shaking his head, fingers cupping his mouth once again. Lydia slid her hand over and covered his free right one as it sat on top of the table, squeezing it in sympathy and solidarity, a silent reminder that she was there and that it was okay to not be okay. He shot her a quick smile behind his hand, aware of Parrish's eyes on their clasped ones and the mix of curiosity and possessiveness in his scent.

“Are you two—?” he began then paused, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat. “Do you—?” he struggled and Stiles was fully expecting him to finish with the word “fondue”.

“We're friends,” Lydia saved him, voice soft but with a finality that was impossible to argue with, Stiles nodding to back her up.

Parrish seemed to physically relax at that, sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Sorry. I just. Had to ask.”

Lydia waved him off, Stiles shrugged it off, brow drawing in determination. “What happened to my brother?” he asked bluntly, ignoring his friend as she closed her eyes and clenched her jaw, obviously displeased by his forwardness. Although really, she should've been used to it by that point.

Then again, she'd warned him to keep his mouth shut and not speak out of turn and he'd once again done the complete opposite of what she'd advised. Which, once more, she should've been used to by that point.

The guard's face grew serious, eyes narrowing, lips parting as he stared the chatty omega down and for a brief moment, Stiles actually worried that he'd fucked up. Not that he showed it. No, outwardly, he remained confident and calm, not backing down, not regretting what he'd said. He needed to know, needed the peace of mind that could only come with that knowledge, needed to find out for one-hundred percent sure that his dream had been Stuart's actual reality and that what Stiles had seen was the truth. It would help him find his brother's killer, find his brother justice, and allow his brother to rest in peace.

Parrish leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, putting well-endowed biceps on display. “Pretty sure _I'm_ the one who's supposed to be asking the questions here,” he insisted, giving the other man a hard look.

But Stiles still refused to back down, leaning over the table to get closer to the beta. “And I'm not answering a fucking thing until you answer all my questions first.”

Lydia screwed up her face, eyes shut tight, scent full of disbelief and embarrassment. She took a deep breath before reopening her eyes, tight smile on her face as she looked at the man seated across from them. “I would blame his current behavior on his grief, but unfortunately, he's always like this.”

Stiles remained unapologetic, staring unflinchingly at the beta, watching as the guard flicked his eyes back and forth between the two visitors. He swallowed hard, hands shaking as they hovered over the table, but the rest of him remained firm and unwavering. “I need to know,” he stated lowly, plowing on as though Lydia hadn't spoken.

A sigh left Parrish as he dropped his arms, sitting up straighter, shoulders slumping in defeat. “His Mate reported him missing this morning,” he began reluctantly, quietly, like he wasn't supposed to say anything but had been cajoled into it.

Which he had been.

His brow furrowed. “Wait, this morning? I thought this place had a curfew?”

“To leave the city, yes, but he didn't leave the outer gate,” he clarified. “Besides, Derek, his Mate, he explained that the two of them had gone to bed together at their usual time. He didn't notice anything was wrong until he came here expecting to find Stuart, only to discover he hadn't showed up early like Derek had figured he had when he'd woken up to an empty house.”

“What happened to him?” Lydia rasped, hands clenched on her lap with white knuckles, scent reluctant.

The S-Dub rubbed at the back of his neck, taking a deep breath before speaking. “They found him face-down in a creek in the middle of the woods within the second ring. He was naked, glasses and phone missing, and had been washed down with scent-neutralizing soap.”

Something wasn't quite right, a piece missing, but Stiles kept his features flat, kept his scent the same as it had been. “So he was drowned?” he questioned shakily, knowing the answer, afraid to hear it out loud.

He slowly shook his head. “Throat was slashed open.”

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Stiles smeared a hand over his face then cupped his mouth and chin again, knee bouncing beneath the table. His brother had been brutally murdered and he'd gotten a first-hand account. Aside from the killer himself, he was the only witness and it was on the tip of his tongue to let Parrish know that he had some info himself.

But he didn't say it.

Because he didn't know these people, didn't trust them. They might've been Stu's coworkers and possibly even his friends, but they weren't shit to Stiles, and as far as he was concerned, everyone was a suspect.

Okay, not everyone. Non-alphas were clearly ruled out, which meant most of the S-Dub team that he'd met were innocent. Jackson was left on the list of possible do-ers though, along with any other alpha in town. But the top of his list was Stu's Mate, Derek. It was just too much of a coincidence to get an email from his twin talking about Mates hours before his brother's death and his gut was screaming at him that it was a connection, a clue, a sign to look into his brother-in-law and investigate.

But he was a stranger in town, a visitor under suspicion himself since he'd shown up with no entry papers. No one was gonna help him out or even believe him in the first place. If he were in their shoes and some random jack-off showed up claiming to have a “gut feeling” about who killed a friend and coworker, he'd be incredibly skeptical, worried that the guy was trying to keep them off his scent and leading them in circles as he got away with murder. Yeah, they might've been twins, but fratricide was a thing and in recent times, the family seemed to be the first people accused of the crime.

Especially Mates.

His mind flashed to poor Tracy at the sheriff's station and her unrepentant Mate who'd beat the shit out of her. Despite years and decades and centuries of belief that Mates meant security and protection and balance and caretaking, it wasn't always the case and some pairs fell outside the norm in that aspect.

“ _Mates don't always mean happy ever after._ ”

“Look,” Parrish began softly, leaning forward over the table, yellow-green eyes meeting Stiles' whiskey ones. A soft expression was on his face, scent colored with compassion, and the omega was glad that this was the guard they'd entrusted to do the interview, that this was the man fate decided should be with Lydia. “If you know something, _anything_ that can help us find your brother's killer, we'll be pretty damn grateful because so far, we've got nothing.”

Stiles swallowed hard, resisting the urge to blurt out that he had a suspect in mind thanks to a coded message from his twin not long before his death. He heard his dad's voice in his head telling him to cooperate with authorities and let the S-Dubs do their job, but he ignored it, much like he did back home. A small sort of possessiveness took over and he held on tight to his info, fully believing that this was his case to solve, that it was up to him to put the bastard away.

Shaking his head, he let out a small “no”, the sound muffled by his hand.

The beta nodded, glancing down at the folder sitting beneath his folded hands, brow pulled in thought. “I gotta ask,” he started, pausing before looking back up at the man across from him. “Stu's been living here for nearly two years and you showed up today, the day we find his dead body. I hate to sound accusing, but it's a pretty huge coincidence, don't you think?”

Lydia shook her head vehemently out the corner of his eyes, lips pursed in annoyance, crossed leg bouncing up and down under the table. Stiles paid it no mind, staring dubiously at the other male.

“You think I killed my brother?” he double-checked, unable to believe what he'd just said. Then again, the thought had crossed his mind earlier that if the tables were turned, he'd be thinking the same thing. It shouldn't be that hard to comprehend the fact that someone had, in fact, accused him of it.

Parrish shrugged helplessly, like he didn't wanna say Stiles did it, but had to. Requirement of his job, the fact that highly circumstantial evidence pointed to him, all that shit. “I gotta cover all my bases here,” he pointed out, hands held up.

The omega bobbed his eyebrows in concession and dismissal, rubbing the back of his neck before laying his hands on the table limply. “I didn't do it,” he stated. “Until yesterday, I thought my brother was in New York. It's where his last email had said it'd come from, but like you said, guy's a computer whiz. He might've somehow attached a fake IP address or something.”

He slowly nodded, brow still furrowed, curiosity and suspicion still coloring his scent. “What happened to make you realize he was here?”

Shit. He took back what he'd previously thought about being glad over Parrish doing their interview, wishing instead for a moron who'd just skim over all the details and not pay such close attention. Who was the Deputy Haigh of their unit? They needed to be questioned by that guy.

“He sent another email,” Stiles admitted, tapping his fingers against the table. “And before you ask, I have no clue what it said. It was all in gibberish, I couldn't understand it.” It was a blatant lie but he hoped the trauma of the day explained away his erratic heartbeat and the tick that had surely just sounded out.

Lydia played along perfectly, remaining cool and confident, face, body language, and scent all betraying nothing. He owed her so fucking big for this. Like, lifetime of indentured servitude big.

Parrish nodded some more, seeming to buy it, sitting up straighter in his seat as he righted the manila folder. “I believe you, and I'm sure my boss will, too, once you talk to him. But for now, I need to get this process interview done.” He paused, giving Stiles a pointed look. “Unless you have more questions.”

He shook his head “no”, fingers still tapping, knee still bouncing, eyes staring unseeing at the S-Dub's black shirt.

The beta glanced over at Lydia, who bobbed her head in acknowledgment, then opened the folder. Two stacks of clipped together papers were revealed and he moved them so they lay side-by-side. Stiles peeked down, only able to see the top sheet of each packet. The pictures they'd just had taken were printed in full color on the top left corners, copies of their fingerprints along the bottom half, the remaining quarter of it filled with tiny type he assumed was their basic bios: name, birth date, dynamic, Mate status, height, weight, all that good shit. A small part of him was glad to see that “ _omega_ ” wasn't bright red or all in caps, blending in perfectly with the rest of his pertinents, but he shoved it all aside to focus on the other man's words.

“Your fingerprints match up to the ones on your files so you are who you say you are,” Parrish informed them, staring down at the stacks, flipping the first pages of each back to scan the second. “Your exit papers for Beacon Hills also check out, but they claim you were on a random road trip with no real destination.” He peered up at them at that, eyebrow cocked in question, earlier suspicion leaking into his scent.

“We may have told a tiny lie on that,” Lydia admitted, resting her elbows on the table and twisting her fingers in the air, head tilted to the side. “But it was solely to get out of town. My mom's the County Alpha and his dad's the sheriff and there was no way they'd let us come here by ourselves. They'd want us to wait until they got back from the Meeting so they could handle it or accompany us.” She pursed her lips in a pout and shook her head. “Wasn't happening.”

The S-Dub looked at her with a confused frown, but so far, was going along with her story. “Why didn't you wait?”

Stiles smeared a hand over his mouth, knowing it was in their best interests to keep it shut and let her handle it. Not due to any sort of dynamic bullshit. He'd pretty much thrown that out the window the second Parrish had joined them in the room—if he was even going along with it in the first place. But because he knew that she was a sweet talker and could lie with the best of them. Because he knew that as an alpha, she held a certain authority that he could only dream about. Because he knew—or at the very least had a damn good feeling—that Lydia and Parrish were Mates and therefore she'd have a better chance of getting him to just go along with her, no matter how insane or ludicrous.

So he finally followed her advice, shutting up and letting the alpha handle it.

“Stuart's been gone for two years with no trace of where he went and barely any communication,” she stated, gesturing with her hands. “Stiles is his twin. The two have a connection you and I will never understand. So if you think this idiot here was gonna wait however long it took for that Meeting to wrap up before tracking down his brother, then you're sorely mistaken. And I am not about to let my best friend trek all this way up here and deal with a whole bunch of strangers by himself, no matter his dynamic.”

The omega hid his parted lips behind his hand, impressed by her superior level of bullshitting. She'd been so convincing even Stiles thought it was the truth. And yeah, he'd been anxious as hell to find Stuart after all that time and no matter what the email said, he'd go charging after the guy as soon as freaking possible. It just so happened that the message was terrifying and anxiety inducing to the point where just waiting overnight had been its own brand of torture.

Parrish seesawed his head, lips turned down as he considered her story and went along with it. “Makes sense,” he murmured, pulling a pen out his left chest pocket and scribbling notes on both their papers. “And you swear that finding Stuart was your only reason for coming here?” he double-checked, peering up at them with hard eyes that were almost pleading for that to be the case.

“I swear on the life of my mom and his dad,” Lydia confirmed. “Who, by the way, is now Stiles' only remaining family member.”

Stiles didn't correct her that Scott and Mama McCall were practically family, but he'd swear on their lives, too, in all honesty.

At least in that situation.

Either way, he still nodded to back her up.

A smile formed on the S-Dub's face as he let out a relieved breath, shoulders relaxing as his worries were eased. “That's good,” he commented before clearing his throat and shifting his face back to a more neutral, business-like expression. “So your background checks were cleared, the results of the blood tests should be back in a few days, and Jackson is currently giving a sworn affidavit to vouch for you both, which will go a long way in speeding up your admittance to the city. Hopefully, you both can—”

He never got a chance to tell them what they can hopefully do. The door flew open, all three heads snapping towards it, all three staring wide-eyed at the man who'd burst in.

And there was a _whoooole_ lotta staring on Stiles' part.

The guy was gorgeous, with black hair styled longer at the top than the back or sides, dark whiskers covering his jaw and cheeks, bright eyes surrounded by lashes so thick, Stiles could see them from where he sat. He wore the usual all black outfit that was the S-Dub's uniform, the color standing out stark against tan skin, but somehow the utilitarian outfit was sexier on him, more attractive. He figured it had to do with the biceps threatening to rip the sleeves and the ass perfectly cupped by the pants and the hint of that V shaped torso that came from hours of weight lifting and strength training. His jaw was strong, perfectly cut, cheekbones that could chisel diamonds, and a sharp nose that ended in a point like a blade. Thick brows were pulled together in a frown and it was then that Stiles noticed the guy's hair was disheveled not for style but because he'd been running his hands through it, that his bright eyes had heavy bags underneath like he hadn't slept in weeks, that his face was pale due to exhaustion while his arms were naturally tan and healthy looking.

But no matter what, he was still the most beautiful thing Stiles had ever laid eyes on. And he was sitting next to Lydia fucking Martin.

His scent reached Stiles' nose, carrying the strong hint of alpha, as well as a thousand different emotions, that Stiles couldn't even begin to sort through them. But he was harried, in a rush, had clearly sped his way back to HQ. Would certainly explain the slight flush to his cheeks and the sheen of sweat on his skin and the way he was panting more than breathing. The omega wondered if the guy had run there from wherever it was he'd been, if he hadn't bothered waiting for a car to start or didn't wanna deal with roads, finding it faster to cut through trees and across streets or whatever he'd had to pass over on his way there.

The alpha kept his hand on the doorknob, the other clutching something in a ziplock pouch as it rested on the door frame, eyes flitting about as he took in the scene he'd burst in on. Stiles ducked his head at the last minute, barely remembering to not look a strange alpha in the eye, especially in a more traditional town like Oak Creek. And given the way Parrish's scent sharpened in worry and his spine had gone ramrod straight, this was obvious an alpha of very high importance.

Which meant meeting his eyes was a five times “no-no” and he'd be lucky to come out of that without a few scars—both mental and physical—from being taught a lesson in respect.

Didn't mean he couldn't look his fill of the guy elsewhere, inexplicably fascinated with his jawline, the whiskers covering them, the sharp point at the end of his nose...

Eyes further moving south, Stiles caught sight of his nametag, “ _CAPT. HALE_ ” displayed prominently, the surname tweaking something in the back of his mind. But all he could think about was how great it would sound alongside “ _Stilinski_ ”, how awesome it would be to have their last names joined together for all time as they were Mated, how he wouldn't mind his stupid fucking ID and its stupid fucking declaration of his dynamic if he were able to look at it and see “ _Stiles Stilinski-Hale_ ” on it for the rest of his life.

“Sir?” Parrish spoke up tremulously, shifting around in his seat to face the alpha better. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The alpha snapped his eyes over to the other S-Dub, shaking his head rapidly as though snapping himself out of some sort of daze. He covered his eyes, fingers digging in and rubbing at the closed lids, harsh sigh leaving him as his breathing evened out. “Hall. Now,” he ordered, turning around to leave the room. His shirt collar shifted with the move, Stiles' eyes drawn to it. Only for him to immediately regret it as he came across the top ridge of a Claiming Bite just peeking out from the stiff black cotton.

Shit.

Had to fucking figure. The most gorgeous man Stiles had ever seen and he was already spoken for.

Double shit.

Sinking down in his seat, he hid his pout as Parrish gave them an apologetic smile and asked them to excuse him. He sorted out his papers and closed the file before doing as he was told, closing the door behind himself.

Silence descended over the room before Lydia broke it, pointing to the room with a thoughtful pout on her face. “I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that's the Big Guy they were talking about earlier,” she concluded, hand flipping in dismissal before playing with her hair. “Makes sense given his last name. Must be the Alpha's son.”

Stiles just sat there stunned, staring at the closed door but still seeing the man standing there, still seeing dark hair and thick muscles and chiseled jaw and...

Chiseled jaw.

Blade nose.

Dark whiskers.

Holy. Shit.

Lips parting in shock, he turned his head towards his friend, eyes still locked on the door. “Lyds?” he began, waiting until she gave him a hum of acknowledgment to show she was listening. “I'm pretty sure that was my Mate.” And like a slap in the face, the image of the alpha's Claiming Bite came to the forefront of his mind, taunting him with its existence. “Or he's my Mate's twin,” he corrected, the thought just not quite sitting right in his gut. He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands as his elbows rested on the table. “I dunno,” he muttered before letting out a long groan.

A thoughtful “huh” came from his right, Lydia's foot still swishing up and down, finger still twirling her hair around. “What are the chances of that?” she questioned absently.

His hands dropped to the table with a loud thump, eyes still staring at that damn door but still seeing that damn Claiming Bite. What were the fucking chances indeed.


	8. The Realization.

They were left alone in that room for way too long.

Although “way too long” was probably pushing it. It was most likely only about five minutes, but it was long enough for Stiles to start obsessing and sinking into a thought-spiral he couldn't get out of.

Captain Hale was obscenely good looking, to the point where Stiles wanted to track down his parents and thank him for mating that night and congratulating them on such a masterpiece of genetics.

Captain Hale also had an incredibly familiar looking jawline, one that had haunted Stiles' Mate dreams for the past four years, one he now felt he knew as well as his own.

Captain Hale also happened to have a Claiming Bite on the left side of his neck, although not as high up or prominently displayed as the other Bites he'd witnessed that day—or any other day really. But it wasn't completely unheard of. Sometimes omegas were shier and more subdued and didn't put their claim as high up on their alpha.

Although if it had been Stiles, he'd put that thing right where everyone and their mother could see it. No way would he let a Mate as gorgeous as that alpha run around with his Bite half-hidden behind the collar of his work uniform.

Whatever. Didn't matter. Because the alpha wasn't Stiles'.

Which, was a thought that had his wolf whimpering and whining and feeling just... wrong. Hell, all of him felt wrong at that. He just knew deep down in his gut that Captain Hale was meant to be his and he was meant to be the Captain's.

But the Claiming Bite...

Okay, that could be explained away, he mentally reasoned. Hale looked older than him, looked maybe mid-twenties at least. Maybe he'd figured he was Dream-less and Mated someone else, someone he'd fallen in love with and wanted to spend forever with. It'd happened before, another cliché rom-com plot, the storyline of trashy paperback novels.

Would just be Stiles' shitty luck that it happened to him in real life.

Damn.

Although really, how can shit be that bad for one person? Lost his mom, lost his brother, now lost his potential Mate.

He thought back to an earlier remembrance that all bad things came in threes, the cliché sounding more true than ever. That would make three people that'd been taken from him far too soon—although the last didn't seem nearly as permanent or severe, but still. Maybe he'd get lucky and he wouldn't be losing anyone else for quite some time. Thank fuck, because he honestly didn't know how much more of that crap he could handle.

Whatever. He had more important shit to deal with, like finding his _brother's_ Mate and getting the evidence necessary to lock the guy up for murder.

The door opened once more, Parrish pulling an extra chair inside and setting it across from Lydia before sinking down onto it, once again shooting her a small smile. Captain Hale followed at a much more subdued pace, shutting the door, before scuffing his way over in heavy boots. His eyes were trained down at his hands, one clutching what Stiles could now see where two evidence bags, the contents hidden behind thick palms. The omega's traitorous mind supplied him with images of those hands wrapped around his wrists as he was held down, hard cock being driven into him, thick knot filling him up and keeping them locked together.

He quickly wiped the images away, shifting in his seat as his own dick twitched inside his khakis, clearly okay with the idea his brain had concocted.

The alpha stopped across the table from him, nostrils flaring on his bent head, leaning over the metal as he placed one of the bags on it. “These,” he began, voice not quite as deep as his appearance would suggest, sliding the bag closer to him. Stiles glanced down as the hand pulled away, immediately recognizing the thick black frames visible through the thick clear plastic. Stu's glasses.

“Were found about a mile away from Stuart's body, only a few feet away from this.” At that, Hale placed the second bag next to the first, tapping it before pulling his hand back.

Stiles checked it out, heart stopping in his chest at the sight of it. It was the smartphone from his vision the night before, the one he'd seen Stu use to text him. The screen was lit up, displaying the last message sent to a series of numbers he knew were his own, a familiar text bubble just below it.

“ _Luv u bro. I'm sry_ "

“Recognize this number?” Hale asked, a hint of authority in his voice. It was clear the guy was used to being respected, to his orders being followed, even without knowing that his last name was that of the State Alpha. His every word carried power, his every move wordlessly saying he was not one to be fucked with. Even the way he pointed to the ten-digit code that made Stiles' phone ring had a sense of purpose and dominance. Alpha or not, this guy was in charge and Stiles would do damn well to do as he was told, traditional town or not.

“Yeah,” he rasped out, leaning back in his seat, fingers knotting together on top of the table. “It's mine.”

“Any idea what he's apologizing to you for?”

He snorted, eyes rolling before he was aware of it, shrugging in a manner that was more annoyed teenager than questioned adult. “How the fuck should I know? Probably for disappearing two years ago in the middle of the fucking night.”

“And you're sure you haven't had any other communication with your brother, aside from the email yesterday?” the alpha double-checked, not quite suspicious or curious, but something in between, like he wasn't accusing yet didn't believe he was totally innocent.

Stiles licked his lips, eyes glued to the table, one hand wringing the back of his neck as the other tapped the top of the table. “He emailed a week after he left saying it was better that he was gone and then a few months later saying he was Mated. Until yesterday, I didn't even know if he was alive.” He swallowed hard, emotions thick in his throat again. God, just saying that was surreal as hell, the reality smacking him in the face once again. He spent a year and a half unsure if his brother was alive and now he was one-hundred percent sure that he wasn't.

Fucking hell, that sucked.

“Sir,” Parrish spoke up weakly. “I still don't think it's a good idea for you to be involved in the investigation. It's too personal and you're too—”

“And you doing the intake interview for your Mate isn't too personal?” Hale butted in harshly, head snapping to his subordinate. Stiles risked a peek up at the two S-Dubs, noting the alpha scowling down at his beta, fists clenched on the table as he leaned over it.

A sheepish grin appeared on Parrish's face as he seesawed his head. “Point,” he admitted, wagging his eyebrows in dismissal. “But with all due respect, sir, you did that very thing a couple years ago.”

Hale's eyes narrowed, his jaw gritting and his fists clenching tighter, knuckles white. The strong scent of anger hit Stiles' nose and he slumped further down in his seat on automatic, head tilting to the left on instinct, his omega nature taking the reins and making him supplicate to an incensed alpha.

“It's not the same,” the darker-haired one grit out through clenched teeth, scowling down more at his subordinate.

“Yes, it is, Derek.”

Derek?

“No, it's not. Don't fucking argue with—”

Derek?

“Derek?” Stiles interrupted, sitting up straighter in his seat and angling himself toward the alpha, pointing a finger at him. “You're Stu's Mate.” It wasn't a question, it wasn't him double-checking, it was a statement he knew for a fact. Because there was no way it was a coincidence that his brother was Mated to an alpha named Derek and then just _happened_ to work with another alpha who had the same name.

Plus it was really fucking like his luck that he meet a guy he was ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure was his Mate and he was already Mated to his fucking _twin_ , the better twin, the smarter, more good looking twin.

Derek—as he was now known to be—shut his eyes tight, nostrils flaring as he breathed deep and even, like he was keeping his calm. Which, shit, he probably was. The guy had just lost his damn _Mate_ and there Stiles was, bringing the recently departed back up like it was no big deal. And really, he of all people should know how much Stuart's death stung, how much it hurt to have him brought up so soon after he was taken from them. He of all people should also know how a wolf reacted after losing their Mate, how they were practically half of themselves, zombies walking around with no purpose and no reason for living.

Like his dad.

And now, like Derek.

Although Derek seemed to be moving around okay. Then again, it wasn't like Stiles knew what was going on in the guy's head. His wolf could've been howling and yowling, his mind could've been buzzing with a thousand thoughts all related to the Mate he'd just lost, his chest could've felt too tight and too empty and too aching, just like Stiles' was. And maybe he was just good at hiding it, or maybe it hadn't fully sunken in with him yet. After all, Derek had come in with evidence from the crime scene, where he most likely had been all day searching for clues to catch his Mate's killer. Maybe he'd been too preoccupied to fully realize what had happened, maybe he'd been too busy to really let himself think about what Stuart's death meant from that moment forward.

Stiles was pretty much in the same boat in that aspect. He'd been so focused on entrance interviews and the S-Dubs and trying to wheedle clues out of Parrish that he hadn't actually thought about the fact that his brother was _dead_ and how that would affect the lives of both himself and his dad—as well as all their friends—from then on.

It was gonna catch up to him and Derek both at some point. And it was gonna _hurt_.

A muscle in the alpha's jaw ticked, visible through the whiskers he was sporting, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. His entire body—or at least the parts that Stiles could see—were pulled taut, every line of him tight, a bow pulled to its extreme. It was only a matter of time before it—and he—snapped and someone was caught in the crossfire.

“Parrish,” Derek began calmly, eyes still closed. “Take Miss Martin into another room and complete her interview there.”

“But, sir—”

“That's an order, Officer Parrish,” the alpha snarled, eyes snapping open and fixing his subordinate with a hard glare that brokered no argument.

The beta opened his mouth like he was gonna debate more, only to slam it shut, clearly knowing better. He broke eye contact, head subtly tilting to the left before nodding and rising to his feet. He stepped around the table and helped Lydia to her feet, the two of them then leaving the room.

And leaving Stiles alone with Derek.

Awkward. As. Fuck.

The tension in the alpha seemed to leave the room with those who'd just exited, his body sagging as he sank down into the chair opposite Stiles. He turned to face him, but immediately dug the heels of his palms in his eyes, elbows on the table, tired sigh leaving him.

Stiles took the opportunity to study him, the breadth of his shoulders, the circumference of his arms, the length of his fingers. His mind was inundated with images from his Dreams, remembering how it felt to have that broad torso pressed against his back, his chest, to have those hands pinning him down, stroking along his skin, to wrap his own fingers around those arms and dig in, to hold on to them as he felt like he was falling apart. The shade of his hair matched that of his happy trail in those few peeks the omega was able to sneak. The length and style of his whiskers matched that of the rough stubble that had rubbed up against his skin only two nights prior. This was his Mate, he knew it deep down in his soul. And his wolf was sure of it, too, whining to get closer, rolling on its back in supplication, feeling at peace and at home, all thanks to the alpha across the table.

The alpha that bore the Claiming Bite of Stiles' twin brother.

Fuck. His. Life.

Clearing his throat, he shifted in his seat, fingers tangling together on top of the table. “So,” he began, pausing, feeling awkward as hell. Because seriously, what the fuck was he supposed to say in this situation? What exactly does one say to their finally found Mate who just happened to already be in a committed relationship with one's twin?

“Bet you didn't expect to meet—” Shit, where the hell was he going with that? Who exactly was he to Derek, how exactly was their relationship defined? “Your bro-in-law like this.”

Jesus fucking Christ, he was a moron.

He winced at the stupid question, glad the other man was still hiding his face to he couldn't see how patchy and red he was getting. Because wow, that was just...yeah, that was dumb and idiotic and something only he would come up with.

A snort rocked Derek's upper body, his hands dropping to the table but his head still hung there. “Honestly? I didn't expect to meet you at all, considering why Stu came here.”

_That_ got Stiles' undivided fucking attention and immediately snapped him out of his embarrassed funk.

He shot up straighter in his seat, leaning closer, ignoring the heady scent of alpha and woods and wolf, focusing solely on the conversation. “Stu told you why he ran away?” he asked excitedly, voice wavering with emotions barely kept in check. Finding out why his brother left would bring him another sort of peace to everything, would help close one mystery surrounding his twin and maybe even help on his way to solving another. He just needed to get the info without raising too much suspicion.

He figured he was safe at that moment though, considering pretty much anyone would be dying to know why a family member up and bailed in the middle of the night with no explanation. No suspicion raised yet.

“Yeah,” the alpha informed him, lifting his head and Stiles only just flicked his eyes to the side in time to avoid meeting the other man's. Looking at an alpha was fine, no problem. Meeting his eyes? Pretty much reserved for family members and Mates only.

Unless there were special circumstances or one was raised in a town with looser morals and social behaviors, like Stiles was, meaning he had no issue looking Scott or Lydia right in the eye for whatever reason.

And as much as Stiles would love to check out those light orbs of Derek's head on, he had a feeling it would be a really bad fucking mistake.

“But it's not a good idea to discuss it here,” Derek continued, ending his statement with two meaningful taps to his right ear.

Stiles frowned in confusion at that, aiming his puzzled expression at the tip of the guy's nose, strangely fascinated by the way it came to a point and fighting the urge to lean over and just kiss it. “Aren't your interview rooms soundproofed?” he questioned, knowing the ones in the sheriff's station back home were, mainly to protect attorney-client privilege. Seemed strange that ones here wouldn't be the same way.

“They are,” Derek argued, clasping his hands together and setting them on the table. “But there's also cameras and you never know who's watching.”

The omega's eyebrows raised at that, eyes automatically going to the two corners he could see to find any cameras as stated. Nothing there, but a quick peek over his left shoulder revealed one high up in that corner. There was no flashing red light like in movies or tv shows, but he knew that was bull. Real cameras had no flashy lights, were constantly recording without alerting anyone to their presence. Easier to catch people doing something wrong that way.

Turning back to face forward, he kept his gaze lowered, fingers of one hand tapping those on the other. “But you _are_ gonna tell me, right?” he made sure, letting the hope and uncertainty leak into his voice and scent.

Derek nodded, his own scent carrying the smell of reluctance but the strength of determination, fingers tightening their grip on one another. “If you want me to.”

“If I want—” Stiles repeated with a scoff, rolling his eyes. “That's the dumbest thing I've ever fucking heard. Why wouldn't I wanna know?” His eyes narrowed and his lip curled up in a sneer as he lifted his head and looked Derek right in the eye.

Huge. Fucking. Mistake.

Or quite possibly, the smartest thing he'd ever done.

Either way. Holy shit.

It felt like he was zapped with a defibrillator—or at least how he imagined it would feel—electricity zipping throughout his body. He had a brief flash of memory, of Allison telling him that the French phrase for "love at first sight" literally translated to "a bolt of lightning" and he couldn't help but feel like they'd gotten it extremely fucking right. Because he felt like he'd been struck by it, every nerve in his body tingling, every synapse firing, every cell lighting up, every hair standing on end.

He inhaled sharply, the air caught in frozen lungs, next to his stopped heart. His wolf was clawing at the surface, whining and howling to get out, to make them get closer, to curl up in Derek's lap and scent-mark him, be scent-marked by him right back. Because it was him, their alpha, their Mate, the literal male of their Dreams. They finally found him and everything from then on out was gonna be amazing, perfect, a life full of love and caring and knots and protection, all because of the dark-haired, green-eyed man across the table, the one Stiles hadn't been sure about but now knew without a doubt...

"It's you," he murmured, staring wide eyed, whiskey orbs locked on to bright green ones. "It really is you." The corner of his lips curved up, a happy and relieved grin forming on his face because he'd just found his motherfucking _Soul Mate_.

The eye contact seemed to be having a similar effect on Derek, his entire body tense, his eyes wide and his brows raised in surprise. His breathing was ragged, body shuddering with it, the tips of his front teeth showing through parted lips. His scent roared to life, delighting Stiles' nose with the aromas of virile alpha, arousal, joy, peace, and a warmth he could only describe as coming home. It was like what he'd caught coming off Lydia when she first made eye contact with Parrish, only better. Because it was _Derek_ , it was _Stiles' alpha_ , it was the male who would Mate him and claim him and take care of him for the rest of their lives.

And fuck, Stiles could tell he would take care of him well. He was muscular, strong, in command of lots of people. He'd be able to provide for his omega, bring him food, protect him from danger. And when it came time for Stiles' heat? Derek was obviously fully capable of taking care of him, would knot him and fill him and breed him—

Not that Stiles could actually be bred, but there was no telling that to his hormones or his wolf.

But if he _could_ be, then without a doubt, Derek would be completely able to do so and could provide him with pups.

His teeth sank into his bottom lip at just the thought of even practicing that, of Derek's big hands wrapped around his wrists, holding him down as he plowed into the omega, just like so many Dreams before. Stiles couldn't wait to feel it in reality, to see if it compared to the revery, to find out if real life truly was better, like all his paired off friends kept telling him.

Without thinking, his hand slid across the table, desperately seeking the alpha's as it sat clenched on the metal furniture. Which wouldn't do, wasn't right. Derek shouldn't be tensed, shouldn't have his fingers balled into fists. They should be stroking his skin, smoothing over his chin and lips and jaw, just like in the Dreams. They should be stroking into him and getting him ready for his alpha and his knot. They should be holding him down in submission as he was taken, claimed, mated in the most primitive way, in the way their animals demanded.

Snapping out of the trance they both seemed to be in, Derek snatched his hand back as though Stiles had burned him, despite the younger man's fingers still being an inch or so away. The alpha's scent shifted to something spicy and angry, his eyes narrowed, brows pulled into a harsh glare, nostrils flaring as he shut his mouth. Without a word, he shot up to his feet and strode out the room like it was on fire, slamming the door closed behind himself.

Stiles sat there stunned, hand frozen mid-action, mouth hanging open. Rejection was a cold slap to the face, icing over every molecule in his body, eyes locked on where Derek's green orbs had just been.

"What the fuck?" he breathed out to no one, hand dropping onto the table before his entire upper half slumped onto it, head falling with a bang.

That wasn't how it was supposed to go. Derek was supposed to whisk Stiles away to claim him, or at least scent-mark the crap outta him. Or at the very least fucking _smile_ because hello! _Soul Mates_. But no, the guy had stormed out like Stiles had personally offended him or threatened him or like Derek didn't—

He inhaled sharply, holding the air in his lungs as realization hit him. Derek left because Derek didn't want him.

And why would he? The guy had a Mate—well, used to anyway. And not just any Mate, but Stiles' _brother_ , the better, smarter, hotter, all around more awesome and special twin. Getting Stiles as a Soul Mate was a shitty consolation prize and probably the crap cherry on top of a shitacular sundae of a day. It was settling for the cheap knock-off, the store brand cereal your mom insisted was just as good as name brand but really wasn't and always tasted funny. Stiles was Toaster Pastries, while Stuart had been Pop Tarts and no one wanted the crappy burnt chocolate tasting ones when they could have gooey, yummy frosted fudge.

And Derek clearly knew this, knew Stiles was the marshmallow cereal with pieces that didn't quite match Lucky Charms. He knew that the younger twin would never, could never compare to the Mate he'd just lost and he didn't wanna be disappointed by how little he stacked up to his predecessor. He knew all this after five minutes of interaction and five seconds of eye contact and refused to waste any more time on an imitation of the love he'd just lost.

Assuming the guy had even been in love with Stu.

But of course he had been. Why else would he have Mated the guy? You don't make a lifelong commitment like that unless you were in love. Matings were a til-death-do-us-part thing, no chance of severing ties—not without a really damn good reason, like Mate abuse or the like. But even then, some abused wolves stay with their abusers, despite knowing that their life was most likely in danger, because it was their _Mate_ and deep down inside, the one beating and clawing and biting them in a violent manner still loved them.

Like Derek most likely loved Stuart.

Stiles sat up suddenly at that, another epiphany striking him. Maybe Derek had left due to guilt. Maybe he'd killed Stu—whether out of a sudden burst of rage or an on-going thing that had built up and culminated in Stu's murder, it wasn't clear—and then finding out his Soul Mate was his victim's twin, it was too much and he was hit with an overwhelming sense of remorse. Maybe Stu's death was an accident and he hadn't meant to do it. Things had just gotten out of hand and he'd lost control and he'd snapped without even realizing it. His wolf had taken over, he'd gone temporarily feral, and before he knew it, he was looking down at a dead Mate...

No, his mind argued, supplying him with images Stu had sent him. The controlled rage accompanying red eyes, the smooth rumble saying chastising words, a strange suaveness to the actions. The alpha who'd killed his brother knew what he was doing, that much was clear. And someone who'd accidentally killed another wouldn't try to cover it up by moving the body and scrubbing them down to remove their scent and hide the evidence. No, the remorse would drive them to confess, to lead authorities to the body, to take whatever punishment was handed them.

Unless they were a total sociopath.

Then again, a sociopath probably wouldn't _accidentally_ kill someone.

Not that it mattered, because Derek wasn't a sociopath, Stiles just knew it.

He could perfectly hear Stu scoff in his ear, could imagine the smack upside the head and the eyeroll he'd get for that. His twin would call him a moron, would point out that he's being just as naïve and blind as all the abuse victims they see coming through the station doors, all of them swearing that it's okay because their Mate would never harm them.

" _Mates don't always mean happy ever after._ "

Stiles had thought that saying had applied just to Stuart and his situation, but now... now it was maybe also applying to his. Because there was a possibility that his Soul Mate was a killer who'd taken his twin from him. His twin that he'd been Mated to.

Fuck, his head hurt.

He cradled it between his hands, elbows on the table, long breath blowing out from between puffed up cheeks. Shit was way too complicated and he had no idea what the fuck to even think anymore. Because his gut was telling him Derek was innocent, but all the evidence seemed to contradict that and he was torn between the two.

He wished his dad was there. The sheriff would know what to do.

Or maybe not. Maybe his dad would be too overwhelmed with grief over losing one of his sons—and pissed at the other running off—that he wouldn't be able to think straight either.

Christ, what a clusterfuck.

The door swung open and Stiles' head jerked up, heart in his throat with the hope that it was Derek back to apologize, back to confess, back to explain so Stiles could feel a little less like he was going fucking crazy and crawling out of his skin.

Disappointment had him slumping in his seat at the realization that it wasn't who he'd hoped it'd be. Only for the emotion to be replaced by confusion at the sight of a somewhat familiar beta stepping through the threshold, wearing the same black tactical uniform as all the other S-Dubs.

"Ethan?" he questioned incredulously, brow pulled and eyes narrowed in confusion as he took in the sight of the tan brunet.

The beta frowned in response, closing the door and pointing to himself with a manila folder. "Aiden," he corrected, Stiles bobbing his eyebrows. Ethan having a twin in another city made more sense than Ethan being in Oak Creek.

"I take it you know my brother," Aiden commented lightly as he stepped over and sat in the chair Derek had previously occupied.

Stiles' eyes narrowed imperceptibly at someone else taking his alpha's seat, but he kept his scent neutral, instead getting comfy in his own. "Kinda," he stated, rubbing under his nose and tapping his fingers against the table. "Danny's a good friend."

A _really_ good friend, his mind corrected. One he very much fucking owed, just like Lydia.

Although from the sound of it, Danny had owed Lydia so maybe Stiles was in the clear on that one.

Aiden nodded as he straightened the folder on the table and opened it up, revealing the same bio sheet Stiles had spied before. "I haven't had a chance to meet him yet," he confessed, slipping a pen with a pointed end out of his right chest pocket. "Work keeps me busy and pretty much inside the walls. Doesn't look like I'll be meeting him any time soon either." At that, he lifted his chocolate eyes, scent turning sorrowful and sympathetic. "I'm sorry for your loss. I can't imagine how hard it must be for you to have your twin taken away. I don't even wanna think about losing Ethan like that."

The omega swallowed hard, the hole in his soul pulsing and stinging at the reminder of his loss. A weak smile barely turned up the corners of his lips for a brief moment before disappearing completely, a rough "thanks" scraping its way out his throat.

A wavering smile was Aiden's response before he focused on the papers before him, flipping a couple back and holding them in his right hand and scribbling something down with his left. Well, that was one way Stiles could tell them apart. To the best of his knowledge, Ethan was a righty.

Sucked that didn't quite work with him or Stu.

Or rather _hadn't_ worked with him and Stu.

Whatever. Point was he and Stu both were right-hand dominant so other people couldn't tell them apart by which hand they wrote with and that was a bummer.

He smeared a hand over his face, knee bouncing up and down under the table, fingers of his free left hand drumming on the metal. Aiden raised his eyes at him, eyebrow cocked in question, head still tilted down towards the papers.

“Nervous?” the beta questioned, amusement coloring his words.

Stiles shook his head, popping out a quick “nope”, chewing on a hangnail. Because he wasn't. He was anxious, sure, ready to get out and get on his way and try to get to the bottom of the mystery surrounding his brother's death. His determination to find the killer had doubled, now no longer just a need to give his twin some justice, but also to maybe—hopefully—prove Derek innocent.

Not that it would matter. Derek still wouldn't want him. But it would make Stiles feel a little bit better about his own feelings towards the other male—whatever they may be.

Not that that mattered either. Derek was pretty much off-limits as his twin's Mate—whether his actual True Mate or not, didn't matter. Also didn't matter that Stu was no longer with them. It was the principle of the thing really.

It was also a pride thing, if he was being totally honest with himself. He was sick of being the one people settled for when they didn't get Stu and he wasn't about to be second choice with his fucking _Mate_.

But whatever. All of that was moot. Regardless of how Derek felt about him or any chance of them getting together—of which there was none—Stiles was still determined to figure out who had murdered Stuart. And potentially prove Derek's innocence in the process and thus not make himself a naïve jackass in love with an abuser and an asshole.

Although he was still potentially a huge asshole considering how he'd just up and bailed on Stiles like that.

Then again, Stiles had done the same with his dad.

He could totally admit to asshole-like tendencies though. He was comfortable and assured in himself enough to do that.

“Really?” Aiden questioned incredulously, head rearing back slightly. “Because most people are in this situation.”

Stiles shrugged. “I haven't done anything wrong and I'm not planning on doing anything wrong.” Because conducting his own search for his brother's killer wasn't wrong and was totally justified and he'd fight anyone and everyone who disagreed, regardless of dynamic. “I've got nothing to hide.”

The beta slowly nodded, pointing at the other male with the pointed end of his pen. “Your leg is shaking, your fingers are drumming, and you're chewing on a hangnail. You haven't sat still the entire time I've been in this room and from what I've been told, you've been like that pretty much since you were taken in here.” He seesawed his head. “It's a sign of nervousness and potentially a dead-giveaway that the fidgeting person is guilty of something.”

He cocked an eyebrow, impressed. These S-Dubs clearly knew their shit and he kinda wished his dad had more of them under his command.

The thought of which made him realize that he once again hadn't been left with the S-Dubs' version of Haigh and that fucking sucked. But whatever. Aiden seemed okay and if he was anything like his twin, then he and Stiles should get along fine. Or at least fine enough to get this interview over with and Stiles out into Oak Creek proper.

“Or it's a sign that the fidgeting person has ADHD and is pretty much physically incapable of sitting still,” he pointed out, gesturing with an open palm.

“Then explain why you reek of anxiety.”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. “I'm trapped in what looks like an interrogation room being questioned by three different guys at this point, moments after finding out that my brother was _murdered_ and that they have no idea who did it or why. So yeah, I'm a little anxious.”

Dark eyes narrowed at him, analyzing, suspicious, then returned to their normal size as he passed whatever test he'd just been put through. Not that he had any doubt. He'd spoken the truth, albeit with a tiny amount—okay, _a lot_ —of attitude, but still the truth. No way would he be busted in any sort of lie or have any sort of red flags pop up over that, laying the ground work for the rest of their conversation being totally honest.

“Sorry,” Aiden apologized, not sounding remorseful at all, a superficial “sorry” given because societal rules dictated that it should be said. Stiles was used to it though, having lost count of however many superficial bullshit “sorry”s he'd gotten from Jackson over the years because Lydia had threatened him into it after whatever douchebag thing he'd done to Stiles solely because he was an alpha and he could.

“Wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't question everything,” the beta went on, sheepish smile on his face that felt just as fake as the apology.

The visitor just nodded, small smile on his face, putting up a facade of his own as he acted as though he understood and accepted the “sorry”. “What exactly is your job?” he asked, glad he could at least be genuine about his curiosity. “What the hell is an S-Dub anyway?”

“Slang term for Security Wolf,” he explained, pride lighting up his scent, honest smile on his face as he sat up straighter and puffed out his chest in what the younger man would usually refer to as “bullshit alpha posturing”, if it hadn't come from a beta. “And my job is whatever the Big Guy tells me to do at that moment.”

“You mean Derek?”

Aiden's eyes narrowed momentarily, suspicious, before seeming to realize that Stiles had most likely made the connection himself after having heard the nickname the S-Dubs used for their boss. “Yeah. Derek.”

He slowly nodded, as though taking the info in, trying to cover up the fact that he was pretty sure he just found a damn good in, a damn good way to get some info about the man without making it obvious that he was snooping or had ulterior motives. “What kind of boss is he like?” he asked, keeping his voice light and curious rather than interrogatory and invasive. “He fair? Heavy-handed? Nice until you mess up, then he's a douchebag?” He shrugged to wrap it up, hoping it came across as nonchalant.

Judging from the suspicious note creeping back into Aiden's scent and the way he narrowed his eyes once again, he wasn't as successful as he'd hoped.

The beta leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest, pen still clutched in his left hand. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugged again, smoothing his hair down at the back of his neck. “Just curious.”

The eyes stayed narrow, lips parting in thought, then he lifted his head and looked down at him slightly. “This is about your brother,” he stated, causing Stiles' own eyes to widen and his brows to raise, wondering if he'd maybe been way more obvious with his intent that he'd thought he'd been. “You wanna make sure he was Mated to a good guy and not a dick.”

Or not.

He forced a sheepish smile on his face, scratching at a sideburn in a faux-nervous tick, faking having been caught. “Yeeeah,” he stretched the word out to further cement the image, knowing it was working when the other man's scent settled back into its previous comfortable state. “Busted, huh?”

The beta shrugged, not seeming put off by it. “Honestly, I'd do the same thing in your shoes, and I probably will since you know Ethan and Danny.” He winked and Stiles faked a small laugh at that. “But I'd especially do it considering the circumstances surrounding your brother.”

Oh shit, maybe he'd been busted after all.

His heart started pounding, hands going clammy, and he hoped like hell his physical reaction was attributed to the reminder of his brother's current condition. He croaked out a “yeah” then swallowed hard, staring down at his hands as his fingers tangled together on top of the table for the umpteenth time that afternoon.

“He's a good guy,” Aiden assured him, lopsided smirk on his face. “Harsh, but fair. And I'd never seen him raise his voice at Stu, much less lay a violent finger on the guy. You don't need to worry about Derek.”

Stiles just nodded, not in the mood to argue. He most definitely needed to worry about Derek, and for several very good fucking reasons.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Turned out Aiden was now the one conducting his interview, not Parrish, not Derek. Third time was a charm, Stiles figured, realizing it was probably for the best. Parrish he was too tempted to give a warning lecture over treating his best friend right—dynamics be damned—and Derek he was too tempted to...well, to do everything really: grill, demand an apology, explain himself, fuck right there on that table...

He shoved it all aside, focusing solely on the interview itself and not why the other two S-Dubs he'd met weren't doing it. It was fairly standard, double-checking all the facts they already had on file in the hopes of catching him in a lie: his parents' name, where he'd been born and raised, where he went to school, birthdate, dynamic, his birth name.

That had gotten a reaction out of the stoic beta who'd been reading the questions like he was beyond bored and was secretly wishing himself elsewhere as he slumped in his seat. Stiles had just shrugged in a “what can ya do?” manner and Aiden dismissed it with a bob of the eyebrows, taking his word on the pronunciation but asking him to spell it.

“Anyone who can spell out that eye-chart of a name and get it right clearly has to be the guy,” the guard commented, scribbling a note on the file page.

The rest of the interview went by fairly quickly and efficiently. Stiles was relieved to realize that he was able to be completely honest about everything, alleviating some of the guilt he was feeling about having lied to so many people the past day or two. Granted he wasn't looked at too favorably when he admitted to the lie on his exit papers to leave Beacon Hills, but it hadn't entirely been his fault. At least that's what he told himself when the nausea set in, worried it would have him sent back home and into custody of his dad's department.

Questions turned to his relationship with Jackson, which he was completely honest about, too, regardless of the risk that it may actually hurt his chances of gaining admittance. He was glad when talk further shifted to Danny and that he could be totally truthful there without any negative consequences. He talked about the male's goodheartedness, his easygoing persona, his kindness and his general sunshiny disposition, scenting the way Aiden relaxed with each word, a small smile tugging up the corner of his lips.

The door opened, Stiles peeking over to watch Erica slip inside, hands behind her back. “Big Guy wants ya, Aid,” she stated, pointing to the exit with her thumb as she slid to the side of the threshold.

The male beta nodded in acknowledgment, gathering up the already closed file on Stiles, giving the visitor a small smile. “Thanks,” he stated genuinely, presumably referring to the info about his own twin's Mate, rising to his feet as his scent shifted from something satisfied and pleased to more morose and apologetic. “And sorry again for your loss.”

Stiles forced the corners of his lips up in a barely there smile of gratitude before his face fell and his head ducked down. He swallowed hard, staring at his hands as they sat on the table, thumbnails clicking together. He'd been kind of okay the past few minutes, mind distracted with thoughts of Danny, of the few times he'd seen the guy with his Mate and how they interacted with one another. But now that distraction was gone and he was once again reminded of his own twin and what had happened to him, why Stiles had come to Oak Creek in the first place.

The heavy footsteps of his boots sounded out as Aiden left the room, the door shut behind him. But the floral scent of the female remained, her own boot covered feet quieter as she made her way to the table and to the seat her co-worker had just vacated. She placed something on the table and slid it over, not stopping until it hit Stiles' knuckles, his eyes catching the clear plastic of a bottle of water.

Raising his eyes, he checked out what she'd brought him, then looked at Erica herself, watching as she pulled the chair out and turned it slightly before lowering herself onto it. She stretched her legs out onto the seat next to her, crossing them at the ankles, one arm propped on the table as she shrugged a shoulder under her tactical shirt.

“Figured you'd be thirsty,” she explained, smacking a piece of pink bubblegum between her teeth. “You haven't asked for anything all day and I figure you aren't really thinking straight enough to remember you need essential things like food and water.”

His lips twitched in a small grin, knowing she hit the nail on the head with that. It was a bad habit of his, getting so wrapped up in whatever project or paper or research or what the hell he was working on at that moment, totally forgetting necessities, to the point where more than once, he'd made himself ill. And with his mind totally focused on Stuart and his death, he'd completely forgotten that he hadn't had anything to drink since lunch, which was...

Yeah, he had no idea what time it was. It'd been a while since he'd put anything nutritious in himself, basically.

The bottle was still cold from the machine he assumed she got it out of, his hand slightly slipping as he gripped it and unscrewed the cap. He took a sip, relishing the rush of chill he got, the way he could feel it slide down his throat and into his stomach, cooling him down. He took a few more gulps, downing more than he meant to, thirstier than he even realized, before putting the cap back on and setting it aside.

“Thanks,” he told her, smile a little more genuine and less shaky than before.

She waved him off, blowing a bubble then deflating it before pulling the gum back into her mouth.

Silence descended over them, Erica more preoccupied with her gum and Stiles staring at the water bottle he held between both hands, thumb rubbing the condensation. A frown formed on his face, the expression deepening with each moment that passed quietly, realization dawning on him. Erica hadn't given any condolences. At least not since she entered the room. He honestly couldn't remember if she'd said anything out in the reception area when he'd first gotten the news, the entire thing a blur now. He was pretty sure she hadn't. Although really, it kinda didn't matter, hadn't ever stopped other people before. He remembered back to his mom's death, how countless folks had given him their condolences several times and not just because they couldn't remember whether they had or not. He figured with Erica having been one of Stu's co-workers—and potentially even a friend—she would've said it more than once.

Apparently not.

Kinda rude really.

“Did you know it's harder for betas to get pregnant than alphas or omegas?” she randomly stated, head tilted to the side as she peered at him from beneath heavy black eyeshadow.

Okay, what?

His eyebrows raised then furrowed, his head rearing back in surprise, shaking rapidly to clear away the confusion that her random statement had created. Because it _was_ random, even more so than the crap his own mouth usually spurts out—Stu's words, of course. The two of them were sitting in silence in an interrogation room at the base for what he figured was Oak Creek's version of law enforcement. Had they been waiting in the reception area of an OB/GYN, maybe if she'd been reading a magazine about it, sure, then it wouldn't seem so far outta left fucking field. But no. She was sitting there smacking her gum and inspecting her red nails.

And Stiles was left seated across from her making like a goldfish as he struggled to come up with a response of some form. Of _any_ form. “I—what?” he managed to get out, brow furrowing further and eyes narrowing as he leaned his head closer, lips parted.

Erica shrugged, focusing on him as she ran her hand through her hair, fluffing it up. “You look like you need a distraction and I need someone else to complain to about the unfairness of beta fertility.”

He opened his mouth only to shut it with a loud smack, still having no clue what the hell was going on. But she was right, at least about the first part. He needed a distraction, something else to think about. And why not issues betas apparently had with getting pregnant? Wasn't like he had anything else to talk to her about and hanging out in silence once again would just let his brain do something dumb like think about his brother. Or Derek. Or his brother _and_ Derek.

So yeah, distraction, definitely needed.

“See, the thing that pisses me off,” Erica began, taking his lack of response as permission to go ahead. She dropped her feet onto the floor with a loud thud before turning to face him, leaning over the table to get closer, ample chest resting on top of the metal. “Is how fucking easy it is for alphas and omegas. They go into heat once a year and unless they're on birth control, they're _beyond_ fertile, right? Just one time and boom!” She smacked her hand on the table for emphasis, making him jump slightly in his seat. “Instant-prego. But us betas? We don't get a neat li'l week of guaranteed fertility. We have to guess and assume and do all kinds of crazy positions in order to guarantee his sperm gets to my egg—which I'm not complaining about, ya feel?” She smirked salaciously at him, tongue curled over a fang, eyebrows bobbing.

Stiles just nodded along, figuring it was his safest option. No point in telling her he hadn't done it in _any_ positions, much less new and crazy ones.

“But laying there with your legs in the air for an hour afterward? It gets a li'l tiring. Not to mention makes you feel kinda crazy.” She leaned back in her seat with a sigh, lips sticking out in a slight pout before she shook a hand through her hair and waved it all off. “Don't get me wrong, it'll totally be worth it when I _finally_ get pregnant. It's just when you agree to have a family, those nine months of pregnancy are a long enough wait, ya know?”

He shrugged this time, shaking his head. “I guess, yeah.” He sniffed, scratching his forehead with a finger before going back to fiddling with his bottle. “I mean, I can't _exactly_ relate, but I know what it's like to be ready for something to happen but have to keep waiting for it.”

His mind supplied him with flashes of a blade nose and a sharp jaw, phantom sensations of a broad torso and thick arms against his own body, a thick cock driving into hi—and he promptly cut that thought off. He shifted in his seat, cleared his throat, willing his dick to not get too excited and his scent to not make it too obvious.

Erica's head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed as she looked him over, nostrils flaring as she scented him. “I take it you mean your Mate,” she perfectly deduced, straightening up once more. “You don't have a Claiming Bite and your scent, while carrying a few notes of others, including a couple alphas, it doesn't have that overwhelming possessive tone of someone who's marked you as their's.”

He rubbed a hand over the left side of his neck self-consciously, eyes automatically drawn to the Bite on her neck. “Yeah,” he rasped out, clearing his throat and dropping his hand once he realized what he was doing.

A sympathetic smile formed on her face and she slid a hand over to lay on his, only to think better of it and pull it back. His wolf whimpered, having been looking forward to the physical comfort, but his human-half ignored it, knowing it was nothing personal. Just more antiquated bullshit really. He was gonna have to get used to it while he was there, was gonna have to forgo the freely given hugs and shoulder bumps and nuzzles his friends gave out back home.

“I'm sorry, sweetie,” Erica stated, seeming to genuinely mean it, before she perked right up. “Maybe you'll find him here like Stu did. Wouldn't that be something?” She practically beamed at him, clapping her hands as she leaned forward over the table again, brown eyes sparkling in delight.

It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he already had and to point out the irony of who his Mate turned out to be, but he kept his mouth shut. Yet the thought of Derek was firmly planted in his mind, the image of the alpha that he'd managed to sneak a peek at, the jolt of electricity he'd felt when they'd locked eyes. His heart began pounding in his chest and he hoped like hell she interpreted it as excitement over her idea possibly becoming reality.

“Yeah, maybe,” he played along, lips curved up on one side. But he couldn't manage a full smile, couldn't keep up the joy that had come when he remembered Derek, not when he was also reminded of the Bite on the side of his neck, the one that belonged to his twin. Finding his Mate was supposed to be the most amazing, incredible, beyond unbelievably awesome moment of his life—at least that's how Scott always played it up—and yet Stiles' had turned out to be bittersweet and depressing, a taunt at what technically belonged to him but he could never have.

Assuming the guy hadn't even been the one to kill Stuart.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Stiles shifted in his seat, leaning on his elbows as he put a curious expression on his face. Not that it was all that hard, considering the fact that internally, he was _dying_ to know more. But he had to play it down, make it seem like just a curiosity over his brother's Mate and not anything more than that, much like he'd done with Aiden.

“What were they like together?” he questioned. “Stu and Derek, I mean. Was it a good match or were there issues? How were they?”

Erica frowned at his inquiries before bobbing her eyebrows in dismissal. “They were good. They made a good team,” she answered, heartbeat steady as she told the truth. “They weren't all that big on PDA or anything, but they'd hold hands at times and I'd seen them give each other a quick little kiss a couple times.” She paused as she frowned again, staring at the table but seeming as though she was seeing something else.

Stiles leaned closer, tucking his feet under the chair. “What?” he asked softly, not wanting to snap her out of her thoughts and lead her to believe that she was making a mistake and that she should've kept her mouth shut.

“Was kind of weird for a Mated pair to be so—” She waved her hand around in an attempt to find the right word before giving up. “Hands-off, I guess. I mean, Cora is constantly complaining about what hell it is to work here with Mated pairs because we're always all over each other and it's nauseating, or at least nauseating to _her_ , but Derek and Stu were always very touch-shy rather than touch-starved, ya know?”

He nodded, filing the information away, finding the whole thing strange. Danny and Ethan were practically joined at the hip, hardly ever leaving the other person's side and Allison pretty much never used chairs when Scott was around, always using his lap instead. And god, the making out! The endless making out. Stiles'd had to break out the Super Soakers in order to prevent himself from seeing any body parts he didn't wanna see and/or prevent any stains on whatever furniture his friends were going at it on.

So to hear about a Mated pair being so hands-off was strange.

“Then again, I don't know what goes on in the bedroom,” Erica went on, hands raised in innocence. “Maybe they're all over each other in there and somehow manage to get it out of their systems.” She scoffed at her own thought, rolling her eyes. “Don't see how, but whatever.”

He nodded again, rolling with it, ignoring his wolf's angry growls at the thought of Derek doing anything in anyone's bedroom with anyone else. “So aside from the weird no touchy thing, they were totally normal?”

She nodded, humming in agreement, before wincing and seesawing her head. “About once a month Stu would show up to work all jittery and shit, looking like he hadn't really slept. Well, more than usual, anyway. And he'd be really jumpy and freaked out way easier than normal, but always played it off. And Derek would show up sometimes really depressed and cranky and more snarly than usual, pretty much with the same frequency.”

He frowned hard at that, red flags popping up all over the place. His brother being jittery and freaking out, Derek being cranky and snarly, both states happening once a month...

“Were they like that at the same time?”

“Whoa! No, no, no!” she insisted, waving her hands around as she caught his implication. “Derek would _never_ lay a hand on Stu, not like that. He was totally respectful, a perfect gentleman, and would be the only one who could calm Stu down from a panic attack.”

Stiles' eyes widened at that. Stu had never gotten panic attacks; it had always been a Stiles thing. What the hell had happened to his brother the past two years?

Erica sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Look, talking about this clearly isn't any help to you, so let's just drop it, yeah?” she suggested lowly, giving him a soft smile. “Why don't I go find something we can do to occupy ourselves?”

He looked up at her in question as she rose to her feet, hitching up her utility belt. “Thought you had to man the gate or something.”

She waved him off. “Pretty sure Whittemore is gonna be stuck on that for a while once the Big Guy is done with him. Plus my shift technically ended fifteen minutes ago. I just figured you didn't wanna be here by yourself while your friend is getting her flirt on with Parrish.”

He seesawed his head, seeing her point, before giving her a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

A wink was her response, along with a smirk and a “no problem, Doe Eyes” before she sauntered out the room.

Stiles leaned back in the chair, spinning his half-empty bottle around for lack of anything better to do, mind racing. Stu having panic attacks, acting jumpy and jittery, freaking out at work and getting no sleep at home. Derek being snarly and cranky, most likely snapping at everyone he worked with—including Stuart. The lack of touching and PDA between them and what implications all those things held.

“What the fuck happened to you, bro?” he muttered to no one, ducking his head and running his hands through his hair.

He was almost afraid to find the answer.


	9. The Hales.

Erica made good on her promise, returning with a deck of cards she'd admittedly swiped from the locker of a co-worker named Cora, declaring she wouldn't mind and if she did, Erica could totally take her.

“Besides,” she went on as she shuffled them, grinning. “You're her family, so you can get away with it.”

She and Stiles played poker as she explained that Cora was Derek's younger sister, a beta, and an S-Dub. She was currently in the woods at the crime scene with a couple other females—both of them alphas—named Braeden and Malia, the three hoping to pick up a scent trail or find any more clues. Erica then distracted Stiles from growing too morose by talking about the S-Dubs themselves, explaining that they handled who came in and out of the city, keeping guard and protecting those within, as well as handling any and all crimes that happened inside the walls.

“Usually it's small shit, like someone complaining over a neighbor's loud music or someone having a few too many at the bar. This is the biggest thing that's happened since I joined.”

She didn't dwell too long on that subject, changing instead to how all S-Dubs were once members of the military and had all served overseas at some point before being allowed to join. Since they were all given the task of protecting the most important person in the state and her family, they obviously needed to be well trained and able to handle anything.

“Wait, even the Alpha's kids?” Stiles questioned, remembering Lydia's assumption that Derek—or rather, _Captain Hale_ —was the State Alpha's son. And considering Erica's earlier statement that Cora was Derek's younger sister, she was obviously one of the Alpha's children, too.

Erica nodded, eyes on her cards. “Yep,” she stated, popping her “p”. “Alpha Hale wanted them to know respect, duty, and what it truly meant to serve, as well as see what it was exactly that they were fighting for and why it was so important for them as Alphas to protect everyone.”

He raised his eyebrows, impressed, and seeing the Alpha's point. It wasn't too far off from what the British Alpha Monarchy did, how the Crown Alpha Prince had served overseas, his little brother following in his footsteps. Stiles wondered if it was all State Alphas who did that or if it was just Alpha Hale. 

The door opened, Derek stepping inside as though he knew he was being talked about, frowning down at Erica. The blonde turned her head and gave a smile to her boss, not seeming too upset over being busted or apologetic for sharing details about the captain without his permission and behind his back.

“Sup, Boss Man?” she greeted him cheerily, in a tone that spoke more of friends than superior and subordinate. Stiles cocked an eyebrow at it before dismissing it by bobbing both, staring down at the cards in his hand and wringing the back of his neck.

If Derek had a problem with the slightly insubordinate way he was greeted, he didn't comment, simply stating her name in a flat tone in response. “What're you still doing here? Your shift ended hours ago.”

She shrugged a shoulder, turning back to her own hand. “Figured I'd keep Stiles company,” she answered with a smile, giving the mentioned male a wink. “He had to be bored all by himself in this room while his friend is off making goo-goo eyes at Parrish.” She made a face at that, bringing a small smile to Stiles'.

The alpha by the door simply rolled his eyes, folding his arms over his chest and putting impressive biceps on display. Stiles was hit with a flash of memory from his Dreams, how he'd sometimes dig his claws into those muscles, how it felt to hold on to them as he was pounded into, the force of those thrusts pushing him up along the soft grass he was laying on. His cock twitched in his boxers, passage dampening and hole fluttering, as his wolf whined for a re-creation. Or a real life creation really, since it had yet to happen.

Yet.

Both Derek and Erica snapped their heads to him, nostrils flaring as they caught the scent of his arousal. The alpha's eyes flashed red as they looked him up and down, the blonde beta smirking wickedly, tongue sticking out between white teeth. Embarrassment flooded the omega, killing any and all arousal he'd felt and causing him to sink down in his chair, eyes locked onto his cards while he cleared his throat.

Derek shook his head as though snapping himself out of something, rubbing at his eyes. “Right,” he said in a dismissive way, sweeping everything aside with a swipe of his hand. “Erica, your day is done and so is Boyd's. Head home, there's nothing more you can do here.”

The blonde turned back to her boss, curls flying about with the motion. “You sure you don't need us at the scene?”

Stiles peered up at that, head still bent, watching as the captain shook his head. Derek refolded his arms, eyes sad and distant but features remaining flat. Yet there was no hiding the way his scent grew morose, the way his shoulders hung in defeat, the way he seemed to shrink into himself just a tiny bit. Stiles tightened his grip on his cards, unintentionally bending them as he fought the urge to go over to the other man and wrap him up in his arms, to caretake until he was feeling better, happier, not so fucking upset. He tried telling himself it was just omega instinct, that it was just in his nature to wanna fix things, especially when it came to an alpha, but he knew that was bullshit.

Sure, he'd felt that same desire whenever Scott or Lydia were bummed about something, a need to make them feel better, but not to the degree he was experiencing at that moment. It was an all-encompassing thing, the muscles in his legs tensed up as though ready to lift him off the chair, his wolf whining and howling louder than ever. His own emotional state was in turmoil, his mind buzzing with a million thoughts regarding helping the alpha, fixing the alpha, making the alpha happy. And he knew he could do it, knew he could ease the other man's distress, simply just by being an omega.

But he didn't have the right to.

Because Derek was still a stranger to him.

Because Derek was the Mate of his _brother_.

Because Derek was suspect number one in Stuart's death.

Because Derek had run out the room like an asshole seconds after they'd made eye contact for the first time and Stiles had realized the guy was one-hundred percent without a doubt his True Mate.

Right.

Stiles' brows set into a hard frown as he practically glared at his cards—which actually made up a pretty decent hand and were totally undeserving of that kind of scowl but it was better than letting the real reasons for his agitation be known.

“No,” Derek answered out loud, voice slightly rougher than Stiles' remembered, something that seemed to make sense when the alpha cleared his throat and went out without the rasp. “The trail is dead and there's nothing else to find there. We're calling it a day.”

Erica bit her lower lip, brows pulling into a sad frown, scent overflowing with concern and upset. “You're sure?” she asked lowly, reluctantly. It was then that Stiles remembered Stuart had worked there, had befriended everyone, that he was nearly as important to them as he was to his brother.

Or at least, he had been.

Stiles managed to keep himself from sliding a hand across the table to hold her's in comfort, that earlier need to caretake coming back. Except this time, it wasn't as strong or as overwhelming as the desire to help Derek, this more of a platonic sort of thing. Sure, there was a want to cuddle, but with Erica, it was with clothes on and more due to their animal natures than anything. They were all tactile creatures at heart, Stiles even more so with his omega nature. Although, he was probably more of a physical person just from being him, since Stuart had never really been one for snuggles—something that annoyed the younger twin when he was feeling touch-starved and needy.

Whatever. Point was that, yeah, he wanted to cuddle up to Erica and make her feel better, but nowhere near as bad as he wanted to with Derek. And with the alpha, it was hopefully a clothes off, curled up under the sheets, every possible limb tangled as they rubbed and scent-marked one another kind of comfort snuggle.

Which, again, wasn't gonna happen for several freaking reasons, ones he'd thought of only moments before.

Damn.

“Malia, Cora, and Braeden are all headed home,” Derek went on, scratching his scruff-covered jaw. “Laura's on her way here. We're just gonna start fresh tomorrow and hope Fenris finds something he missed in his initial examination.”

Erica worried her bottom lip more as she nodded, accepting the decision but clearly not all together happy with it. Dropping her feet from the chair next to her, she turned to face the table and began sweeping up the cards. Stiles tucked his together and held them out to her, she taking them without touching his fingers, small grateful smile on her face that he was sure would've been bigger and more genuine if she didn't smell so upset. He had to remind himself that she was taken, focusing on the Claiming Bite on the side of her neck, forcing himself to remember that it wasn't his job to comfort her but Boyd's. He had no right to extend a soothing hand to anyone there.

Refusing his nature, he stared down at his hands as they fiddled together on top of the table, having nothing to do with them anymore. Derek was taking away his source of entertainment for the past...yeah, he had no idea what time it was, how long he'd been in that room, much less how much time he'd spent with Erica. But he knew it had to have been getting late in the day, his mind roughly guesstimating things based on the fact that he and Lydia had stopped for lunch an hour or so before hitting the first wall outside of Oak Creek, the remembrance of which was causing his stomach to growl.

His eyes darted to the side, peeking at the empty water bottle he had. Erica had gotten him a refill but that was some time ago. Jeeze, all he'd had that afternoon was a couple bottles of water and now that he was thinking of that, he had to fucking pee.

He also needed a damn nap, he thought, suppressing a yawn. Yeah, definitely getting late, considering how tired he was. Then again, it'd been a long, emotional day. He was bound to feel really fucking drained after all he'd been through.

Cards tucked back into their pack, Erica rose to her feet, gathering her own empty bottle along with Stiles', sad smile still on her face. “Hope I'll see you again soon, Doe Eyes,” she commented with a fake sort of lightheartedness neither of them seemed to be feeling.

He returned the small smile with a head nod, agreeing to her sentiment before the two exchanged goodbyes and she left, closing the door behind herself. Stiles promptly fixed his eyes on his hands once more, refusing to look at the alpha who was still in the room with him, refusing to think about what had happened the last time they'd been alone together.

But it was his mind, so of course it went straight to obsessing over Derek's behavior during their previous conversation and the fact that the guy had just _left_ after the most life-altering revelation ever. Dick move.

Stiles' scowled down at his hands, watching as his fingers curled into fists. His jaw tightened, teeth clenching, grinding, his skin growing hot with agitation. His wolf pulled back its lip and bared its teeth in its own form of aggravation, a constant low growl rumbling in the back of Stiles' head.

“You owe me an explanation,” he fumed, not raising his eyes, not looking at the other man. He knew the second that he did, he'd give in to whatever it was the alpha wanted and he refused to kowtow to anyone at that moment, refused to just be okay with how he was previously treated all because it was his Mate and biology told him to concede and accept Derek's behavior. Fuck. That.

“I owe you several,” the older man admitted with a nod of the head as he leaned back against the small section of wall between the door and the two-way mirror. His arms were still folded, ankles crossed, but from the quick peek Stiles allowed himself, he could tell the position wasn't in a defensive manner. The alpha was holding himself together, holding himself back for some reason.

His heart started pounding in his chest and his stomach started flipping as his mind toyed with the idea that maybe Derek was holding himself back because of _him_. If Stiles had reacted so strongly to the eye contact they'd made, then surely the alpha had felt it, too. And given the fact that he was technically Mated, it was obviously unbecoming and morally wrong to make any move on another wolf, regardless of whether or not their Mate was still alive.

So Stiles got it, he really did. Didn't mean he was all that stoked about it, but he got it.

Shoving all that aside, he focused on Derek's actual words, rubbing the back of his head as they soaked in. Guy had a point, he realized, especially when he remembered the alpha's earlier statement about knowing why Stuart had run off. Seemed like something the couple had in common: they'd both run away from Stiles.

And wasn't that just a kick in the nuts?

Nodding, he dropped his hand to gesture at the other male, finally looking at him fully. “Then you can at least apologize for just taking off on me like that,” he pointed out, folding his hands as he gave him a pointed look.

Derek cocked an eyebrow at that, snorting, his head bobbing with the action. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” he repeated, just as flat as before. “Apologizing means you feel remorse for what you did and that you're sorry for your actions. Which I am not.”

What a douche!

He gave the alpha an incredulous look, brow furrowed in confusion and his mouth parted in shock. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Stiles snorted this time, rolling his eyes as he shook his head in disbelief. “Are you really gonna act like a dick to me all the time?” he questioned, turning back to the other man, watching as he shrugged like it didn't bother him either way. “You really ought to be nicer to me considering—” He cut himself off, snapping his mouth shut with an audible click. Honestly, he wasn't entirely sure how to end that statement, which course to take, what relationship he was gonna allude to in order to make Derek be nicer. Because either one would work. And either one would be a big mistake to bring up.

One of Derek's eyebrows lifted before both drew into a frown, pinning Stiles with a hard look. Light eyes pierced him and he shuffled in his seat under the intensity of it, feeling like the other man's stare was stabbing right through and diving straight into his soul. And maybe it was. Maybe Derek was hoping to find an answer that way, to find whatever it was he was looking for so intensely. The omega wasn't entirely sure what it would be, what would be worth finding, why he would waste his time on a lowly li'l piece of crap like Stiles, but hey. To each their own, right?

Or something.

Whatever. He was getting pretty damn uncomfortable, his hand rubbing the soft hair at the back of his head, throat convulsing as he swallowed hard, eyes flicking back and forth from the table back to the other man, hoping to see his lighter eyes having moved on yet being unable to watch it happen. He felt weak, puny, the pathetic stereotype that surrounded his dynamic, and he kinda hated himself for it.

But still, Derek kept on staring, head tilting to the side in curiosity, reminding Stiles that deep down within, they were all animals.

“Considering what?” the S-Dub questioned, eyes narrowing further as they scrutinized the person across the room from him.

Stiles shifted again, scratching at his forehead. “Considering,” he started then stalled, clearing his throat as an excuse for the pause, when really, he still had no idea how to finish it. Considering they were Mates and he needed to treat his fated better? Considering they were related in all technicality and therefore he needed to be nicer to family? Considering Stiles was a guest and it was proper to treat guests with respect?

All of those options seemed pretty damn terrible really, all of them reminders of what they were both trying to avoid talking about. Being Mates. Stuart. Stiles' technically illegal entry into the city.

Shit.

Dropping his hand, he gestured to the alpha. “Considering who we just lost today and now you're being a dick to a grieving twin,” he spat out, glaring at the other man. He figured bringing up the dead they shared was the safest route to go—albeit also the most painful, given the way his chest clenched at the reminder of Stuart no longer being with them—because for some strange reason, he felt as though mentioning the Mate thing out loud—any more than he already had at least—would be a bad idea. He wasn't entirely sure why, just convinced that if he stated their true relationship to one another, it would make the whole thing real and that... yeah, that was bad.

Because Stuart.

Shit again.

Derek actually had the decency to look ashamed at that, wincing as he turned his head away. His scent turned remorseful, saddened, and Stiles almost felt apologetic himself at having upset the alpha. Almost, because really, the guy deserved to feel like shit after the way he'd treated his brother-in-law/ True Mate and the fact that he quite possibly be responsible for the death of the male he'd Mated.

The omega felt his wolf whimper at that, although the human part of him wasn't entirely sure why, what reasons the animal had for being distressed himself. Maybe it didn't believe that Derek had done it, maybe it wasn't a fan of the reminder of their Mate's guilt, maybe it didn't like how withdrawn and troubled the alpha was.

Whatever the case, Stiles ignored it, choosing instead to focus on his own emotions, his own gut-feelings about everything. And those feelings were telling him that Derek was clearly guilty over something, especially considering the underlying note of that very emotion hidden within the S-Dub's scent.

Jesus Christ. He really _had_ done it.

Stiles swallowed hard, sinking further in his seat, wrapping his arms around himself and sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. Fuck his life. Seriously, just... He'd finally found his Mate and not only was the guy already taken, he'd been taken by his twin fucking brother, who he'd also killed. Of course it was Stiles' luck for that to happen. Why wouldn't it?

Derek turned back to him, brow furrowed, eyes turned down at the corners as his scent shifted to something more concerned. He pushed himself away from the wall, taking a step towards the table, hand raising in an aborted motion as his lips parted to speak. Only nothing came out. He shut his mouth with an audible snap, grimacing before reopening it, only to be cut off once more, this time by the door opening.

The omega peeked over at the new arrival, catching a glimpse of a tall, slender female dressed in skintight jeans and a black tank, dark hair hanging in thick waves over her shoulders. Dirt was smeared on her hips like she'd wiped her hands on her sides rather than a towel and Stiles caught the scent of pine and dead leaves, mud and oak coming from her, followed by the chemosignals of grief, despair, concern, curiosity, and determination. He sifted through it all, getting to the core of her, finding the unmistakable scents of “alpha” and a familiar note he'd caught from Derek, leading Stiles to believe they were related somehow. Siblings maybe? He was pretty sure Erica had mentioned a sister earlier. Maybe this was Cora?

She turned from where she'd been shutting the door and Stiles quickly averted his gaze, staring at the table once more. He heard the sounds of her stepping over, only to stumble to a stop, a barely audible gasp following. His brow furrowed as he stared at his fiddling fingers, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, a stinging at the back of his eyes telling him he was about to cry and he knew exactly why. Her reaction to seeing Stiles was gonna be the same as it had been for everyone else that day: how much he looked like Stuart.

“Holy shit,” she breathed out, a short disbelieving laugh gusting out immediately after before she cleared her throat and seemed to recover from the shock he was scenting. “Sorry. I know everyone told me you two were identical twins, but.” She paused, hair swishing as she shook her head, fabric rustling as she folded her arms. “It still doesn't really prepare you for seeing it. It's like—” This time she purposely cut herself off, lips smacking shut to stop herself from finishing the thought.

“Like seeing a dead person sitting at the table,” he finished for her lowly, voice thick before he swallowed the lump in his throat.

She shrugged and ran a hand through her hair. “I was gonna say 'ghost' but. Pretty much.” A humorless laugh left her as she shook her head again. “It really is like Stuart is sitting there. I'm sorry, I know it's probably hard to hear about him right now, but this is just blowing my mind over how much you two truly are identical.”

“They're not identical,” Derek muttered petulantly, leaning back against the wall once more. Stiles risked glancing up at him through his eyelashes, noting how the alpha was frowning down at his shoes, folded arms still keeping him together.

His sister seesawed her head in concession. “Okay, not _exactly_ identical, no,” she agreed, gesturing to Stiles. “The scent is different and he doesn't wear glasses, but other than that, pretty damn identical.”

Stiles opened his mouth to argue, to point out all the differences between himself and his late twin, only to snap it shut again. Not only would he be speaking out of turn with an alpha—again—but there was no reason for it. Explaining their physical differences was only ever so people could tell them apart and he didn't have to suffer through repeatedly being called “Stuart”. But now it was depressingly easy to know which twin he was, since he was the only one still alive.

His chest ached at the realization that accidentally being called his brother's name from then on would hurt like fucking hell.

'Cause this whole thing wasn't shitty enough.

Derek snorted, shaking his head as he stared off to the side, disbelieving look on his face, as though he had no clue how his sister could be so dumb. The expression made Stiles frown in confusion until he realized that the alpha had been _Mated_ to his brother for nearly two years. He would obviously have the guy's face memorized, would know his features as well as his own, so it would be easy for him to tell the subtle differences between his Mate and his Mate's twin.

Then again, his own dad still had issues telling the brothers apart.

Lydia didn't, neither did Scott. So clearly it could be done and who else would be better suited to know who was who than the Mate of one of them.

Although at that point, it was hard to tell whose Mate Derek truly was.

Stiles' wolf grumbled at that, hating the insinuation that Derek was anyone's but theirs. The omega wasn't sure if he was glad he couldn't see the alpha's Claiming Bite or not, if it was better for him to pretend it wasn't there and not deal with the heartbreak of an unspoken rejection or if it was necessary to prove to his wolf that yeah, Derek was _taken_. Or had been. Whatever. Point was, the guy was off-limits and that indent of teeth proved it.

His wolf grumbled louder and he actively chose to ignore it, instead focusing on the female in the room as she stepped closer and sat opposite him. He not so subtly sat up straighter, pulling his clasped hands closer to his body, keeping his head bowed and his eyes averted from hers, playing the perfect little submissive that Lydia had wanted him to be all afternoon.

“I'm so very sorry for your loss,” she stated genuinely, thickly, clearing her throat as she folded her hands on the table in front of herself. “Stu wasn't just a friend, he was family, and I can't imagine how devastated you must be right now.”

He shut his eyes tight against the stinging that started up at the back of them once more, fingers clenching as they tangled together. He had no idea what to say, how to react, simply nodded as he licked his lips and pressed them into a hard line. A whimper sounded out but he had no idea where it came from, if someone in the room had made it, if _he'd_ made it, if his wolf had made it, deciding it wasn't all that important and dismissing the noise.

“Laura,” Derek said, the name a plead from his lips, although Stiles wasn't sure what exactly he was asking for. The omega assumed it was a request for her to stop, to change the subject, the topic of Stuart and his death obviously a sore spot for the male alpha, too.

“But that's not what I came to talk to you about,” she—Laura, he assumed—stated, sitting up straighter and shuffling in her seat. Stiles peeked up at her, only glancing up to her stiffened jawline and her set shoulders, the position giving her an air of authority. Although it made sense if Stiles was right in his assumption that Laura was a sister of Derek's given the similar scents, because that would make her a Hale, too, and another child of the State Alpha.

“With Mom— _Alpha Hale_ ,” she corrected herself with a small amount of sass and an audible eye roll, unknowingly telling Stiles his theory had been right. “—out of town, I'm Acting Alpha of Oak Creek. I've reviewed both your and Miss Martin's interview papers and everything seems to be in order, especially with Officer Whittemore's testimony on your behalf. Both of you are released from Security Wolf custody and are now able to move about the town, with certain areas being off-limits.”

He nodded as he blew out a relieved breath, feeling his shoulders slumping and his body relax. He hadn't released until that moment just how tense he'd been since being taken into custody—with the exception of however long he'd been playing cards with Erica and mentally escaping his current situation. And now that his innocence had been proven, he felt a great pressure being lifted off his chest, relief that he was soon getting out of there and would therefore soon be on his way to finding out who'd killed his brother.

“Okay,” Laura breathed out in relief of her own, her body slumping. “Now that I've got that official shit done, think maybe you can actually _look_ at me? No need for formalities. We're family.”

His heart skipped a beat at her calling them family, wolf yipping in his head in excitement over the acknowledgment of his relationship with Derek...only for his heart to stop completely and plummet to his stomach. Because she was actually acknowledging the fact that they were family through Derek's Mating to _his twin_ and not the fact that they were Mates themselves.

Goddamn if this wasn't becoming a recurring theme.

He ducked his head further, swallowing a hard lump in his throat, feeling his esophagus seized up on him. He'd always wanted a sister, considered both Allison and Lydia as sort of surrogate ones, and now here was this female telling him that she was, in fact, an actual sister. Through a Mating. That wasn't his.

Laura sifted in her seat, leaning over the table and ducking her own head to try and get in his line of sight—unsuccessfully. “Look, if you're worried about a Mate connection or anything, I've already found the guy.”

He hadn't been, but now that she'd brought it up, he was curious. Because her scent didn't carry anyone else's with it, not the way Erica smelled of Boyd and Lahey smelled of his alpha. He quickly glanced up in the hopes of seeing the left side of her neck and a Claiming Bite that may be there, only to have the skin blocked by her thick hair hanging down.

As if sensing his actions, she swept her hair behind her head and to the other side of her neck, tilting her head to put it on display in a manner he'd never seen an alpha give to a lowly omega, especially not one as important as a Hale. “We aren't actually together,” she clarified, shrugging her bared shoulder. “It happens sometimes, no biggie. But I know who he is and where he is, so no worries about a connection, okay?”

He nodded, rubbing at the back of his head before deciding to just follow her lead and throw a middle finger to societal standards of conduct. Raising his head, he finally looked at the female's face, taking in her slender jaw, her sharp nose, her bright blue eyes, and her pale skin. He could definitely see the resemblance between the two siblings, could note all the similarities between them that proved their shared genetics.

A slow smile crept along her face, the expression friendly and inviting, putting him at ease and calming his anxious wolf. She leaned over the table, arms folded on top of the metal, getting close as though sharing a secret. “There he is,” she said softly, blue eyes sparkling. “I'm Laura.”

“Stiles,” he replied weakly, a watery smile forming, one he didn't entirely believe yet didn't entirely reject. Because despite only knowing Laura for a few moments, he already liked her. There was just something so calming and friendly about her, something that allowed him to relax despite the high stress situation, and he wondered briefly if it was an alpha thing. Scott and his dad had always been able to soothe him over the years and in more recent times, Lydia had managed to do the same. He also figured maybe it had to do with what she'd said, that they were family, and while his wolf didn't entirely agree with the way she'd connected their dots, it was still eased with the idea of “ _pack_ ” and “ _family_ ” and “ _home_ ” that came with the sentiment.

“Nice to meet you, Stiles,” she stated, voice still low, smile growing and causing his own to become more genuine. “Now,” she began, sliding back until she was sitting up straight once more. “Have you made arrangements for who you're staying with in town?”

His eyes went wide at that, panic flooding him once again. Oak Creek didn't have any motels or hotels or inns or anything of the like, mainly because it wasn't a tourist destination. People who came to visit the town came with the intent of spending time with someone in particular, someone who would open up their home—and presumably their guest room—to them and allow them to stay there. Not knowing anyone in town meant he had no one to stay with and was most likely gonna wind up sleeping in Lydia's car.

Comfy.

“I, uh,” he rasped out, fingers tapping the air. “I dunno. Lydia made all the plans.”

Laura nodded, lips pressed together as she took the info in. “Well, from what I understand, Miss Martin will be staying with Officer Parrish for, uh, reasons I'm sure you understand.”

Derek snorted in the background, drawing Stiles' attention. The alpha shifted his head from where he'd been still staring off to the side, to tilting it down and staring at the floor, shaking it in a disbelieving manner. Stiles' brow furrowed at the reaction, wondering what the hell exactly was so hard to comprehend about the whole thing. Lydia was fucking awesome. Parrish was a lucky bastard to be her Mate and he damn well better make sure he knew that or Stiles would make him aware of it, omega or not.

“I know!” Laura cried out in excitement, perking up in her seat and pulling Stiles' focus back to her. “Why don't you stay with Derek?”

Stiles' eyes went wide for the second time in as many minutes, snapping them over to the other man. The S-Dub stood there with his jaw dropped, his own eyes popped open and his impressive eyebrows high-fiving his hairline. He sputtered a few times as he dropped his folded arms, finally managing to let out an indignant “Laura!” while taking a step towards her.

She rolled her eyes as she turned to her brother, eyebrow cocked in challenge. “He's _family_ , Derek. More specifically, _your_ family,” she reminded him in a harsh tone, eyes narrowing at him. “Where else is gonna stay? Mom's out of town, Cora won't put up with a stranger in the family house, and my guest room is currently filled with Alpha shit.”

“I can sleep on a couch,” Stiles volunteered, hand in the air.

The Hale siblings both barked out a “no!” at his suggestion, making him drop his hand and lean back in his chair a bit at the force of their two hard looks being leveled on him. Fucking alphas, man.

Laura's eyes softened when she realized she was glaring at him, face apologetic. Derek, on the other hand, kept his eyes narrowed and his jaw tense as he turned his head away again, arms folded once more and leg shaking in agitation. Dick.

“We're not letting you sleep on a couch, Stiles,” Laura stated kindly, soothing nerves that had been frayed by two glaring alphas. “You can stay with Derek in his guest room and if he has any objections, he can kiss my Alpha ass.” She leveled hard eyes at her brother, the orbs flashing red and making the S-Dub tilt his head to the side ever so slightly. A huge grin formed on her face as she turned back to Stiles, scent alive with joy and victory. “Now. Let's get your stuff and get you settled. I'm sure after the day you've had, you're exhausted and ready for a bite to eat and some sleep.”

He nodded dumbly, figuring it was the right response. He honestly wasn't in the mood to eat, but sleep sounded pretty fucking tempting. The sooner he went to bed and drifted off, the sooner that nightmare of a day was over.

Laura rose to her feet and he followed suit, leaving the room after her with Derek trailing behind them both. She led them down the hall, explaining that Stiles would have to be signed out and Derek fill out paperwork stating that Stiles would be staying with him, the omega absently nodding along. The numbness was settling in once again as he remembered what had brought him to the city in the first place and all the shit he'd been through that day. God, it was hard to believe that Stu's email had just showed up the day before, that it'd been a little over twenty-four hours since he'd last heard from his twin.

Okay, less than, he mentally corrected, remembering the text message he'd received in the middle of the night during that fucked up dream. Not that he believed that it was _just_ a dream, but calling it that was easier—and less insane sounding—than twin psychic link image of his brother's last moments.

He shuddered at that, feeling a wave of confusion come from behind, ignoring Derek's puzzlement over his actions. He still wasn't entirely convinced that Derek wasn't responsible for Stu's death and until then, he was keeping the dream/psychic link images to himself.

They headed down to the door that led to the waiting area, the entry to the reception desk open, Lydia standing just outside of it. Her head turned at the sound of their approach, soft smile forming on her features as her eyes met Stiles' before she stepped away from the two men talking inside the room—Parrish and Whittemore from the sounds of it—wrapping a hand around his wrist and pulling him away a couple feet. The Hale siblings watched them depart, Laura seeming to dismiss it as she leaned into the reception room, Derek still watching them with a furrowed brow before his name was called and he stepped into the room.

Lydia glanced back at the room before stopping against the wall with Stiles, her back to the group of S-Dubs as she fixed him with a stare that managed to be both hard yet concerned at the same time, something only she was capable of pulling off. “You okay?” she asked softly, rubbing his forearm.

Stiles nodded, scratching his jaw with his free hand. “Yeah, I guess,” he admitted truthfully, gesturing to the other room. “Derek—I'm gonna stay with him.”

Her eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a hard line as she released his arm and folded hers across her chest, cocking a hip out. “You really think that's a good idea?” she questioned in a harsh whisper, wordlessly reminding him that Derek was both a suspect and possibly Stiles' Mate and that staying with him was all kinds of stupid.

Not that Stiles needed the reminder but still.

“I'm sure if I ask Jordan, you can—”

“Lyds,” he cut her off, peeking over her head at the other room, at Laura who was now leaning against the door frame casually, only her back visible. “It's fine. I know what I'm doing.”

And okay, he kinda didn't. But when did he ever really? It was kind of his MO at that point, half-ass a plan and hope for the best. So far it'd worked, had gotten them into Oak Creek and had introduced him to his brother's Mate and Suspect Numero Uno. And now that he was thinking about it, staying with Derek was really the best plan. It would be more convenient to suss the guy out, to search for clues, to figure out who exactly Derek was as a person and if he was capable of murder. Would definitely save him getting caught breaking and entering, would explain away keeping such a close eye on Derek and potentially stalking him.

“I'm staying with Derek,” he repeated, hoping to convey his intent with a quirk of the brow.

Lydia pursed her lips as she turned to the side, letting out a heavy sigh that said she thought he was a moron, that it was a terrible plan, that she wanted to argue like hell with him and make him change his mind but she knew there was no talking him out of it and she'd be wasting her time on it. “Fine,” she huffed out, turning back to him. “But be careful,” she ordered with a harsh whisper and a pointed finger. “And text me in the morning, keep me updated on everything. And you should probably call your dad tonight, too.”

Shit. The entire time he'd been at the S-Dub's HQ he'd completely spaced on his dad. He'd probably landed in LA hours ago and had already tried to reach Stiles multiple times, each message growing more frantic and pissed off at his delinquent kid's non-response. Aw, hell, he was fucking in for it for sure.

“Yes, ma'am,” he placated, smirking slightly at the light slap to the chest the comment earned him. She turned with a flick of strawberry blonde hair, strutting over to the other room with him trailing after her, sneakers scuffing on the linoleum floor.

Laura stepped out the room, clipboard in hand when they approached, face all business once more. “Everything seems to be in order. Just need you to sign this and you're free to leave.”

Stiles nodded as he took hold of the proffered clipboard, slipping the pen off the clip at the top as he glanced over the form. Seemed standard enough, bullshit about understanding the laws of the town, agreement not to go to restricted areas, knowledge that he'd be charged to the fullest extent of the law, blahblahblah. Same shit he signed in Palo Alto in order to attend school there. Uncapping the pen with his teeth, he scribbled his name on the signature line, wrote it out in his usual all-caps scrawl handwriting where it instructed him to print, and added the date. He put the pen back where it'd been then returned the clipboard to Laura.

The alpha female read what he'd written, eyebrows scrunching in confusion then raising in acceptance, muttering about how she was just gonna take his word on the spelling. He just shrugged a shoulder, shoving his hands in the pockets of his khakis. She traded the clipboard with someone in the room—Lahey, from the quick peek Stiles got—for a manila envelope, checking what was written on it before opening it and pouring the contents into her hand.

“Here,” she stated, holding out the cell phone that'd slipped out the envelope. “This belongs to you. And this.” Reaching back inside the room, she pulled out his duffel and pillow and handed them over to him, he immediately slinging the strap over his shoulder.

He clicked the home button on the screen, nothing happening, remembering how he'd turned his phone off before they'd left Beacon Hills. He slipped it inside his pocket as he gave her a “thanks”, feeling a little bit more settled now that he had his stuff back.

Laura gave him a small smile, telling him to take care and she hoped to see him soon. He gave her a weak one back before turning to Derek, who'd been watching the exchange from a spot inside the room. Without a word, the captain moved past his sister and down the hall away from the reception door, leaving Stiles to stand there stunned.

The omega stepped in the direction Derek had gone, only to stop when a slender hand landed on his arm. He followed the line of it to find Lydia staring at him imploringly, jaw tense as she ground out another warning to “be. Careful.” He nodded once before scrambling to catch up with the male alpha, watching him using his RFID card to open a metal door at the end of the hall, “ _EXIT_ ” sign glowing right above it.

The door opened up into a parking lot that was surrounded by a chain-link fence, much like the one that wrapped around school property back home. Derek didn't hesitate, turning to the right and heading straight for a matte black Toyota SUV parked by the back of the building, sign declaring it as reserved for “ _Captain D. Hale_ ”. He unlocked it with the key fob, opening the back passenger side door.

“Throw your stuff in there,” he instructed gruffly before stepping around the back of the vehicle to the driver's side.

Stiles did as he was told, tossing his duffel on the seat, pillow on top, and shutting the door, then opening the front one and climbing inside. The interior smelled of leather and pine, a combination of the car itself and the owner. And as the omega pulled the seat belt out to buckle in, he got a whiff of his brother, Stu's scent embedded in the fabric of the belt and the stitches on the seat. His wolf let out a whimper and he wanted nothing more than to bury his nose against the chair and try to seek out more of it, having gone two years without the comforting smell of his twin.

Derek was already behind the wheel when Stiles got settled, sliding the key in the ignition. Seat belt on, the alpha stared out the front window, lips parted as though he was thinking of something to say, only to shake his head and seemingly dismiss it.

“Sorry,” he muttered weakly, causing Stiles' brow to draw in confusion, his wolf tilting its head inside his mind.

“For what?”

He turned to face the omega, light green eyes haunted as they flicked back and forth between Stiles' two brown ones. “Everything.”

The younger man opened his mouth to reply, cutting himself off when Derek abruptly turned away and started the car up, putting it in gear. Stiles wiped it all away and dismissed it, deciding it wasn't worth getting into it, not when Derek wasn't exactly forthcoming with any sort of explanations about anything. Besides, he had more pressing matters to mull over in his mind, more important information he wanted to glean out of the alpha.

Inhaling deeply, he got a lungful of Derek's scent, the notes of _alpha_ and _Mate_ and _home_ and _Derek_ causing his head to spin and dick to twitch and his passage to dampen and his wolf to whine for a completely different reason. And he was planning on staying with the guy for who the hell knew how long? Shit, maybe Lydia had been right when she'd wordlessly implied that it was a terrible idea.

But then again, staying with Derek made his investigation simpler and would help him find Stu's killer easier, allow the remains of his family to move on with their lives, and help the most recently departed Stilinski get justice and rest in peace. Yeah, for his twin, Stiles would do just about anything, including live with his killer and a guy he may very much wanna fuck despite being off limits.

Fuck, he was screwed. And not in the fun way.


	10. The Tour.

Oak Creek was a small town of about a thousand people or so. It had its own schools, its own grocery store, its own pharmacy, its own emergency care, doctors, dentists, anything and everything you'd find in any other town, just condensed into a smaller size behind giant walls. The roads were well-maintained, not a pothole to be found as Derek drove down Main Street, following it as it bisected the small city and brought them to what would be considered downtown: a couple stores, a diner, a bar, a movie theater with two screens—at least that's what Stiles assumed, considering the marquee only held the name of two current releases.

And there he'd been thinking Beacon Hills was on the small side.

People waved as they passed, smiling at the driver, who would respond with a subdued head nod and the wave of two fingers uncurling from around the steering wheel. It reminded Stiles of back home, how random strangers would wave to him and say "hello" because they knew him as the sheriff's kid, as the boy whose mom had died, as the young man whose brother had disappeared without a trace. Glancing at Derek, he figured the alpha had to be experiencing a lot of the same, being the son of the State Alpha and now a widower. A town as small as Oak Creek, gossip had to travel fast, and when it was something as big as a murder, it was a bullet train zinging from person to person.

A few people openly gawked at Stiles as they rolled past them, eyes wide, jaws dropped, faces paling at what they were seeing yet not quite believing. He watched one woman grab a friend's hand as they exited a boutique and point, the friend's chest puffing out suddenly as though she'd gasped. He watched as a teenage girl turned to a teenage boy in confusion while they walked down the street, the boy shaking his head dumbly at her question, mouth hanging open. He watched as a middle aged Asian man dropped a spray bottle and a rag from where he halfway paused waving, head moving back and forth between driver and passenger.

Stiles swallowed hard at all their reactions, knowing it wasn't just the surprised and curious stares of residents seeing a newcomer for the first time. No, this was the shock of people having seen a ghost, or the equivalent of such, a young man they'd all heard was dead sitting in the passenger seat of his Mate's car as they drove home like nothing was amiss. They were all wondering if the rumors weren't true, if maybe Stu hadn't died but was just badly injured, if his condition had been blown out of proportion as the news went from person to person, if it had actually been someone else who'd been found dead in the woods. After all, there had to be _some_ explanation as to why Stuart was alive and well and in a car.

None of them knew that Stu had a twin. None of them knew they were gawking at a dead man's brother. None of them knew they were making shit worse for Stiles.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes flitting about the outside of the car, never settling on any one person or any one thing for too long. A tightness settled in his chest as he wondered how many of those people Stuart actually knew, if he was friends with any of them. They clearly knew who he was, recognized him as Derek's Mate, knew what he looked like. Did it go beyond that? Or was Stu a real recluse who only talked to those he worked with?

A little girl waved cheerily as she smiled brightly at them, her mom pulling the same open-mouthed gawker routine as everyone else while tugging her daughter closer with their joined hands. Across the street, someone was scrabbling to get their phone out their purse without taking their eyes off the SUV, presumably to call a friend and share their recent sighting.

Stiles sank lower in his seat, gnawing on a thumbnail as his leg bounced before him. He suddenly knew what it was like to be an animal in a zoo, knew how those monkeys felt as they sat there trying to clean each other and kids banged on the windows, knew how lions felt as they tried to nap with idiots yelling " _Simbaaaa_!" at them. Never again was he gonna howl at the wolves in the hopes that someone was just stuck in their wolf form or that maybe he'd find a kindred spirit amongst them whom he could befriend.

"You okay?"

The soft voice drew him out of his head and he turned to find Derek glancing at him while keeping an eye on the road. His brow was furrowed in concern, knuckles white from his tight grip in the steering wheel, worry overpowering his scent.

Stiles sank his teeth into his bottom lip as he dropped his hand, gesturing out the windshield at nothing and everything. "They all think I'm Stu," he rasped out, clearing his throat and doing nothing to dislodge the lump in it.

The driver peered all around them out all the windows, checked his rear and side view mirrors longer than necessary, eyes narrowing and deepening the laugh lines around them. "Certainly seems that way," he muttered, focusing on the road once more as the buildings gave way to grass and scattered trees, a sign for a park on the right, one for the school on the left. "No one knew Stu has— _had_ a twin and no one can scent you or get a good enough look at you in order to tell the difference between you guys, so at first glance, yeah, they think you're him. I'm sure they'll figure out the truth eventually once word gets out about you."

The omega just nodded as he returned to gnawing on a thumbnail, having no choice but to believe him.

The drive continued on in silence, Stiles focusing more out the window than anything, watching as trees grew more dense and parted to reveal side streets, getting peeks at the houses of the residential district of the town. He scanned street names, noting a recurring theme of their names all being types of trees: Sycamore Road, Cherry Street, Oak Avenue, Pine Street. They passed another three just like it before turning right onto a single lane street that seemed to break tradition: Hale Road. He quirked at eyebrow at that, taking in the " _Private Street_ " sign attached just below it. Clearly the Alpha Family lived on this street—and _only_ the Alpha Family.

A quarter mile down, they came across a wrought iron gate, Derek hitting the button for the automatic window to roll down as he slowed to a stop. Leaning out, he scanned his RFID card, typed in a code, and pressed his thumb to a digital reader. With a beep and a thunk, the gate unlocked and trundled to the side, allowing them to drive through with no issues.

Stiles kept his focus out the passenger window, trying to familiarize himself with his surroundings, only to realize it was useless. Everything looked the same, all grass and trees, no discerning landmarks, no other signs. And the drive seemed to go on, making him wonder how big a territory Oak Creek seemed to have. Despite its low population, there was a lotta space and a lotta road. Any plans of sneaking out his temporary residence and making his own way into town to investigate anything was pretty much gone, at least not without him getting kinda tired. He didn't have the stamina of an alpha—at least not _that_ kind of stamina and from what he understood, the fun kind only happened right after new Bonds and during heat—so trekking downtown was sure to wear him out some, despite years of conditioning thanks to lacrosse and forced cross country meets—thanks, Coach Finstock.

A few miles past the gate, a dirt road veered off to the right and Derek easily turned onto it, the Toyota handling the shift in terrain with only a slight bump. A few rocks hit the undercarriage, pinging against the wheel wells, and Stiles suddenly missed his Jeep, missed being able to just hop into it and go wherever he wanted whenever he wanted.

He'd get Roscoe back though, hopefully soon. His car-less state was temporary. Wasn't like Roscoe had permanently been taken from him, unlike some other important figures in his life.

He felt his chest seize up at that and he fisted the bottom of his tee, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. He wasn't entirely sure how long he'd known about Stuart's murder—or how long it'd been confirmed really—but it still didn't feel all that real. Part of him was weirdly expecting to find the guy sitting on the front porch or the couch or behind his laptop somewhere inside the house when he and Derek would finally reach it. His mind conjured up Stu's voice calling him an idiot for taking so long in figuring out where he was, rolling his eyes behind his glasses before finally embracing his twin in a tight hug. Because for all their posturing and somewhat emotional constipation, Stilinski men were huggers, were prone to holding one another with everything they had as if it would be the last time they'd see each other. He wasn't sure if it was just something in the DNA, if it was the difference in dynamics between the omega twins and their alpha father, or a biproduct of losing a family member way too early, but it didn't matter. They hugged, and they hugged _hard_.

Stiles suddenly realized with a sharp clarity that he wasn't ever gonna get to hug his brother again, that he wasn't gonna be able to pull the guy close despite half-hearted protests and be shoved aside at the end, with an all-encompassing embrace and a few backslaps and their noses pressed to one another's neck in between the objections. And the next time he'd get hugged by his dad, it would come with the knowledge that they were the last two Stilinskis in their family unit. It would come with a reprimand over his reckless decision to run off with a half-assed plan in order to potentially find his brother based on gut-feelings alone, with the relief that he'd made it back and was safe and sound, with the grief over the loss of someone they both loved more than life and an unspoken promise to try their absolute best to never leave the other one.

Fuck.

He ground the heel of his palm in the middle of his chest, as though he could dull the sharp edges of the new hole that had formed there, right next to the scar tissue of the one his mom's death had caused. It definitely wasn't any easier, the experience of having gone through that feeling of loss doing nothing to help lessen the pain or help him handle it any better. He knew one day it would fade and there would come a time when he didn't break down in tears once a day, that he'd be able to look back and realize he'd gone a week without bawling his eyes out, then a month, then a whole season. He'd somehow be able to function as a normal person, a fully operational member of society, and he'd no longer feel like a walking talking wound.

And he knew finding his brother's killer and gaining the closure that came with it would go a long way in the healing process.

He shoved a hand through his hair, pushing it all aside, focusing out the windshield once more. Up ahead he could see a single story house with white vinyl siding, the dirt road—driveway, he mentally corrected, ending in a carport to the right of it. The door and shutters were painted a deep hunter green, the roof black tiles, a bay window to the left of the door, then two side by side windows, tan blinds obscuring the view inside, a matching set on the opposite side of the door. It wasn't the multi-story brick house with a front porch, balcony, and white picket fence Stiles had been imagining pretty much since the day Stu had emailed that he'd gotten Mated, but it was still nice and homey looking, a perfect place for a young Mated couple just starting out.

He felt a pang of jealousy, his wolf baring its teeth at the knowledge that his brother had what Stiles was supposed to have and with the alpha he was supposed to have it with. Stuart was living _his_ life with _his_ Mate and if the guy wasn't already dead, Stiles would've punched him in the face.

No. That wasn't right. It wasn't like Stuart had purposely tried to sabotage his future or steal an alpha Stiles was already in a relationship with. The older twin had Derek first, had Mated him, had exchanged vows and Bites, and if Stu were still alive, Stiles would be relegated to the role of homewrecker.

If Derek even returned his feelings and acted upon them, which considering his quick escape after their Big Mate Realization—as Stiles was now mentally referring to it, capitals and all—was highly unlikely.

Derek parked the Toyota under the carport and killed the engine, Stiles taking the cue to undo his seat belt and get out. After gathering his duffel and pillow from the backseat, he followed the alpha around to the front door, no discernible pathway to be found, just a line of worn down grass from people repeatedly walking on it. He waited as Derek stepped up onto a concrete platform, holding the screen door open with his hip as he slipped his key into the doorknob then typed a code into a deadbolt right above. With a click, the locks disengaged and the alpha entered, Stiles following him in.

The house was kept cold, causing Stiles to shiver as he stepped onto plush beige carpeting, the walls all white, the ceiling slanting up towards the middle. It smelled of a mix of Derek and Stu, along with that scent that could only ever be described as "home", but with something missing. It nagged at the back of Stiles' brain, a thorn pricking him as he tried to figure out what was so... off about it. It was unlike any other home he'd been to that was shared by a Mated couple, didn't hold that same warmth that his family's house or the McCalls' or Scott and Allison's new place did.

He shoved it all aside, more worried than curious over what it could mean, brown eyes glancing about as he took in his temporary resting place. Directly in front was a door he assumed led to a coat closet, judging by its location. To the direct left of the front door was a shoe rack, Derek untying his boots and leading Stiles to believe he should remove his own sneakers. The alpha then deposited his keys in a bowl that sat on the opposite side of the door, before pointing to a closed one in that direction.

"That's our— _my_ room," he corrected with a grimace, clearing his throat against the rasp in his words before gesturing to the door opposite the main one. "Coat closet. Umbrellas are in there if you need one while you're here."

Stiles nodded, licking his dry lips before following the alpha to the left as he continued a tour of his home. The space opened up into the living room, large comfy couch in black set under the bay window now on their left. In front of them was a flat screen TV fixed to the wall, low entertainment unit below with a Playstation 4 on top, stack of DVDs right beside it. Two large La-Z-Boy recliners sat opposite the TV for optimum viewing, small table in between with a computer magazine on top, most likely Stuart's. A large black square coffee table was in the middle of the room, free of any clutter, so unlike the one back at his place.

Derek led them to the right of the living room, into an open dining room, where the floor changed from carpet to dark hardwood. A large cherry table filled the space, six chairs neatly tucked in, no centerpiece to be found. French doors took up residence along the back wall opposite the living room and Stiles could see a nice wood deck, a decent sized lawn, and thick trees in the distance. A fireplace caused the corner to turn into an angle, photos lining the mantle and he tore his eyes away, not wanting to see evidence of a man he was pretty sure was his Mate being happy with someone else.

The tour continued to the right of the dining area, Stiles vaguely realizing they'd pulled a u-turn of sorts, ending up in the kitchen. A large island sat in the middle, stove on top of one side, barstools tucked underneath the other. The left wall held a large fridge and counter space, sink bisecting it as it sat under a window, dishwasher just to the side of it, double stacked ovens in the corner. The right wall was comprised of another counter, framed by white cabinets, a bowl of fruit sitting in one corner and a cookie jar in the other. 

Derek pointed to an open door on the fourth wall, explaining it was the laundry room and that it led to a side door out to the carport. "Feel free to use the washer if you need it," he offered with a shrug that said it didn't bother him either way, before turning and heading back into the living room.

Stiles followed him into an alcove that sat between the living and dining areas, the carpet continuing into it. The alpha gestured to an open door on the right, pointing out the obvious of it being a bathroom then stepped into the room on the left.

It wasn't a guest room like Stiles expected, but an office space, the scent of it full of old books, printer ink, dusting spray, and Stu, leading the omega to believe his twin spent more time in it than Derek. A desk sat between the door and sliding ones Stiles assumed was a closet, another underneath windows on the wall to the right, both with a lamp and a closed laptop, the one closest to them featuring a couple framed photos and action figures while the other held a small model of the Starship Enterprise—clearly Stu's. The wall behind the door held shelves filled to the brim with books of all sizes and types, leading him to believe Derek was an avid reader just like the twins. The fourth wall held a large black couch under another set of windows and an end table with its own lamp and his mind supplied him with Laura's voice insisting he not sleep on a sofa.

He turned to his host with a cocked eyebrow to point that out, only to be cut off by Derek stepping over and tossing off the cushions.

"It opens up into a bed," he explained, reaching down and grabbing hold of the mattress.

Stiles dropped his stuff by the shelves and headed to the opposite side of the couch to help. The two easily opened it up into a bed, despite the protesting creak of rarely used hinges. Derek unrolled the mattress where it remained folded up, the omega quirking an eyebrow at how thin and not all that comfy it looked. Jeeze, his dorm bed at Stanford was about a million times more comfy than that thing. And he could tell that just from _looking_ at it. Fuck knew how uncomfortable the thing would actually be when he got on it.

Derek stared down at the mattress with a grimace, roughing the back of his neck like he knew what Stiles was thinking in regards to the accommodations he was providing. "Yeeeeah," he began, stretching the word out before lowering his hand to gesture at the couch bed. "There's a mattress pad that goes on top, should make it comfier."

The word choice didn't go unnoticed, how it was called "comfi _er_ " rather than "comfy". He mentally dismissed it, figuring he'd slept on worse during camping trips with his dad and Stu and backyard camping with his twin and Scott. He could manage a thin couch-bed mattress. Was better than sleeping in a cell or Lydia's car or the street, he was sure.

He watched as Derek headed to the closet and slid open the right side door, retrieving something from the floor. "Mind grabbing some sheets from the top shelf?" he requested as he turned back, revealing a two-foot square box in his arms, two fluffy pillows sitting on top.

Stiles nodded, crossing the room to do as asked, peering into the closet. The left side was comprised of shelves, full of all sorts of gadgets and electronics he'd have to check out later in order to figure out exactly what they were. The right held a horizontal rod with a few empty hangers dangling from it, a shelf stretching across the top holding a stack of spare sheets and pillowcases, a quilt folded up neatly beside it. He reached for the top stack of linens, only to pause when his eyes caught sight of a familiar logo on a group below it. It was only a partial, obscured by the way it was folded, but it was enough for Stiles to know exactly what it was.

Extracting the linen set, he turned to his host with a smirk on his face, amusement etched on his features and most likely coloring his scent.

Derek lifted his head from where he was bent over opening the box, brow furrowed in confusion before his green eyes came across what the other man was holding. The tips of his ears turned bright red as he straightened to his full height, throat being cleared as he scratched behind his ear in embarrassment. "It was a gag gift," he rasped out, the lie evident in a blip in his heartbeat.

Stiles kept smirking, shaking his head as he made his way back to the couch. "Nuh uh," he argued, setting the sheets on the arm of the sofa. "Try again."

The alpha huffed, rolling his eyes as the blush spread from his ears to the smooth part of his cheeks, arms folding over his chest in defense. "It could've been a gag. God only knows with Erica," he retorted petulantly, the omega continuing to smirk at him until he caved. "Yes, okay? I like _Star Wars_. Your brother gave me hell for it all the time and constantly tried to convince me that _Star Trek_ is better. Which is bullshit, by the way," he ended gruffly, pointing a finger at Stiles and narrowing his eyes as though gearing himself up for a fight.

"Oh, I totally agree," the omega stated, shrugging with his own arms folded. "Me and Stu's debates over who's a better captain: Kirk or Han Solo, are legendary and often times ended in violence."

Derek stared at him with his lip curled and a dubious expression on his face, shaking his head in disbelief. "Solo. Hands down."

He threw his arms in the air and let them slap against his thighs when they fell. "Thank you!"

The corner of the alpha's lips curved up in a barely there grin before he ducked his head and hid it from sight. He refocused on the box, getting it open and causing the foam pad to expand and spill out, like bread rising out a pan in the oven, before grabbing hold and pulling the rolled up pad all the way out.

"Ya know," he began, flopping the pad on the mattress and unrolling it, Stiles reaching over from the opposite side to help. "Stu had this tradition—at least he said it was a tradition," he amended with a shrug. "Where he'd watch all six movies back to back, original trilogy first. Always struck me as odd that a Trekkie would do that, would insist on it, no matter how late he'd have to stay up to watch 'em."

Stiles froze where he was leaning over and tugging the pad closer to the corner, heart freezing in his chest. He thought back over years of movie marathons and traditions and _Trek_ versus _Wars_ debates that had been solved by their mom's suggestion, one they continued to follow through on because going against it was like spitting on her ashes.

"When, uh," he started then paused, clearing his throat against the lump of emotions clogging it. His hands were trembling and he pulled them close to his body as he straightened up, fingers curled up into his palms. "When'd he do it?"

Derek peered up at him with a quirked eyebrow, obviously noticing the increase in Stiles' heart rate and the melancholy in his scent. "Day after his birthday. Well, both your birthday, really," he corrected, seesawing his head as he straightened the pad out.

He nodded repeatedly, making like a bobble-head, licking his lips as he took the info in. Even when they were apart, Stu was keeping up with the tradition their mom had helped them set, unlike Stiles, who'd been too upset and hurt and pissed to do it.

Although this year, he'd given in and watched the _Star Trek_ reboot by himself at two am on what was technically the day after his birthday but whatever. Semantics or some shit.

Clearing his throat once more, he trained his eyes on the mattress pad, helping to straighten and center it. "It was my mom's idea," he explained weakly, his voice raspy from two major losses in his life. "We used to fight over which movies to watch on our birthday, so she suggested we marathon one that day and then the other the next day and switch it the next year. After she died, we just watched _Star Trek_ on our birthday then _Star Wars_ the day after, since Stu was older. And a bigger asshole."

A small huff of an amused laugh left Derek as he gestured for the sheet. "I know how that goes."

A confused frown formed on Stiles' face as he unfoldeded the light blue sheet, the familiar _Star Wars_ logo repeating all over it. The other man's words weren't all that clear, were left open to so many interpretations. Was Stu an asshole to him, too? Did Stu push his Mate with his cynical comments and sarcastic jibes too much, to the point were Derek snapped and killed him?

No, his brain argued, flashes of that dream/ vision/ whatever playing in his mind. Stu had been stalked, chased, chastised, then murdered, all by someone who'd managed to keep a cool enough head that they'd been able to talk and tell him what a bad omega he was. That wasn't someone who'd had enough of Stu's shit and snapped.

But it still didn't put Derek completely in the clear. Stiles had plenty experience winding Jackson up until the alpha couldn't take it, slamming him up against lockers as he flashed red eyes and spat out threats and insults right in his face, anger a thick scent in Stiles' nose. It was possible Derek was the same. He seemed like a "slam opponent against wall" kinda guy.

His mind switched gears and played out that exact thing happening, Derek slamming him against a wall in that very room. Only instead of threats and snarls, the alpha was burying his nose in the crook of his neck, a pleased sort of rumbling coming from his chest and vibrating against Stiles', hips rolling as a hard cock ground against his.

Aaand he needed to jump off that train of thought before his body fully climbed aboard and the other man got a whiff of what he was thinking. Bad enough his cock was already twitching and his passage had been damp pretty much since he'd first laid eyes on the alpha. He didn't need to make it any more obvious by soaking through his undies.

' _He's Stu's Mate,_ ' he mentally chastised himself. ' _Stu's Mate, Stu's Mate, Stu's Mate, Stu's Mate._ '

"I meant," Derek began, cutting into Stiles' internal mantra. "The part about an asshole sibling. Not that Stu couldn't be a cynical dick at times, but considering—"

Stiles' head snapped up at that, eyes wide before they narrowed at the other man. He'd almost forgotten that Derek knew something, knew why Stu had run off, had a huge piece of the puzzle that Stiles very much fucking needed in order to see the whole picture. "Considering what?"

The alpha shook his head, not making eye contact as he stared off to the side at a framed illustration of the town's layout. "Nothing," he muttered, heartbeat blipping with the lie. He plastered a fake smile on his face, one that didn't reach his eyes, guilt flooding his scent as he turned to his guest. "I'm gonna shower, let you get settled. We'll figure out dinner when I'm done."

The younger man narrowed his eyes further in skepticism, lips parting as though to say something but only coming up with a dubious "uh huh". It wasn't the first time Stiles had caught that scent coming off the other man, always at the mention of Stu. It just made him all the more sketchy, made Stiles' suspicions grow and his mind to question his gut—and his wolf—when it told him Derek was innocent.

"But we _are_ gonna talk at some point. _Tonight_ ," he insisted with a pointed look at the alpha, eyebrow cocked in a challenge of sorts, daring his host to go against him.

"Sure," Derek placated, giving him a weak—and fake as hell—smile before striding out the room like he was in a hurry but didn't wanna make his rushing seem obvious.

Too late.

Staring out the door, Stiles kept the skeptical look on his face, mind churning, wolf whining. It was clear that Derek was hiding _something_ in regards to Stuart, and not just the omega's reasons for running away from home. And if there was anything Stiles was unable to resist, it was a mystery. It was why his DVR was full of procedural dramas—well, that plus his dad's own love of the _Law and Order_ franchises—why he was studying criminal justice, why he was banned from using any computer at the station, no matter what bullshit he told about needing to do research for this assignment or that paper. He had a nose for crime and was constantly sticking it where it didn't belong, despite any and all objections from his dad. And considering his two year obsession over his brother's disappearance, he wasn't about to let this mystery go.

He temporarily shoved it all aside, focusing on making up the bed, laying the flat sheet out and tucking the corners and sides under the mattress. Pillows went in their cases, his own propped up with them, quilt grabbed from the closet and spread out evenly, despite being the only one who'd be using the bed.

The shower cut on when he was smoothing out the quilt and he peeked over his shoulder out the door as though he could actually see Derek stepping under the spray—which was not a thought he should be lingering on. He shook his head to rid himself of the mental image of water sliding over all those muscles he'd caught glimpses of in his Dreams, ignoring his whining wolf and twitching cock. It was the perfect opportunity to do some snooping, any noises he'd make drowned out by rushing water, and he'd be a moron to waste it on fantasies that would never come to life.

He stepped out into the hallway to double-check the coast was clear, satisfied when the only sounds he heard was the shower running and the AC kicking on. With hurried yet quiet footsteps, he strode to the desk by the door, glancing at the nothing special cherry wood, matching chair neatly tucked underneath. A black Compaq laptop sat in the middle, closed, a white sticker with " _DAH_ " across the top. Derek's scent clung to the device, just like it was embedded in the wood, making it pretty fucking obvious whose desk it was. That, plus the Han, Luke, Leia, and Vader action figures standing to one side and the cluster of framed photos on the other. Stiles easily recognized Derek with Laura in one, another female with a scowl on her face and dark hair in a ponytail he figured was Cora standing on her brother's other side. Another frame featured the siblings at a younger age flanked by Alpha Hale and a man he soon remembered to be her deceased Mate.

Shit, that was definitely not something anyone would want to have in common with their parent, he thought, mind filled with memories of his dad's zombie behavior and seemingly never-ending depression after his mom's accident. He wondered if Alpha Hale had been the same way, if she had comforted Derek with words regarding how she could relate and if he ever needed to talk, she was more than willing to lend an understanding ear.

Stiles' felt a now-familiar clenching in his chest and he ground the heel of his palm between his pecs, tearing his eyes away from the family photo and glancing over the others: a young Derek with missing front teeth being held up between his parents; a more recent one of he and Laura in matching combat fatigues, both holding AKs in what looked like a desert base camp; the three siblings with another girl with thick brown hair, her arms wrapped around a petite Asian, Derek with an arm slung over Stu's shoulders, Laura side-eyeing them skeptically.

Well that was certainly interesting.

He picked the frame up to get a closer look, inspecting every detail of the photo. Cora and Laura were in the middle, the younger sister with her arms folded and hip cocked out, lips twisted to the side in annoyance and a clear sign that she'd rather be anywhere else at that moment. The brunette and the Asian girl were both grinning widely, dark eyes twinkling on both faces as they snuggled up beside Cora. But it was Laura that Stiles paid the most attention to, her own arms folded in a more casual manner as she stood to Cora's right, face turned to the camera, but eyes slid to the side to peek at the couple on her own right, lips pursed in suspicion and disbelief. He wasn't sure if it was her brother she was skeptical of or his Mate, if it was the tense way they seemed to be standing, the awkward way Derek had his arm thrown over Stu's shoulder and the inch or so of space showing between their bodies—highly unusual for a Mated pair—if it was the fact that neither smile appeared genuine or reached their eyes, like it was all for show because the camera person insisted they say "cheese".

Red flags popped up in Stiles' mind at the image as he put it back where he'd found it, looking over the other photos once more, picking up on things he missed upon initial glances. Derek only seemed to be smiling— _genuinely_ smiling in the photos where both his parents were present. The ones with his sisters featured rather impressive scowls that seemed to be a family trait due to similar looks on Cora's face. It was only the one with Stu that he bothered trying to put on a false grin, like he knew he was supposed to look happy while with his Mate and everything was supposed to be sunshine and rainbows for him nowadays. After all, no one would blame him for being miserable after a parent's death—like no one was surprised Stiles wasn't as chipper or hyper or chatty after his mom's accident—but they would if he continued to scowl after finding his other half.

Assuming, of course, that everyone believed Derek and Stuart were True Mates and had Dreamt of one another. Then again, even if they were Dream-less and not fated, he should still be happy that he'd found someone he loved enough to spend the rest of his life with.

Smearing a hand down his face, Stiles mentally filed the photos away as circumstantial evidence that even if Derek wasn't the killer, there was still something fishy happening there. He continued his search, heading straight for the other desk, this one featuring an ergonomic chair with extra lumbar support. Add in the fact that Stu's scent was stronger and more embedded in the furniture than Derek's had been at his own desk and it was obvious his brother had spent more time behind his laptop than his Mate did.

Shocker. Old habits, Stiles figured.

He wasted no time opening the MacBook and turning it on, sliding open a tall drawer on the bottom of the left side as he waited for it to warm up. He found countless file folders marked " _receipts_ ", " _warranties_ ", " _tax stuff_ ", " _manuals_ ", all incredibly domestic shit Stiles didn't have time to sort through. The drawer above it held envelopes, paper clips, a stapler, tape, all random office supplies one would usually find on a desk.

The drawers on the opposite side held spare printer paper and larger manilla envelopes, a checkbook, pens, highlighters, a book marked " _budget_ " and another marked " _passwords_ ". He pulled that one out, rolling his eyes at the USS Enterprise blueprint on the cover, flipping through. It was all websites for paying bills, logging on to their bank account, a forum Stu had signed up for. Unless it was all coded to mean something else, none of it was any help and he flipped it closed with more force than necessary, letting out an annoyed huff as he did so.

Turning his attention back to the laptop, he noted the familiar Windows log-in screen, the icon the Starfleet symbol, " _Stuart Hale_ " registered as the username. Stiles narrowed his eyes at the surname, wolf growling low at the reason for it. He shoved his jealousy and anger aside and focused, moving the cursor until it was at the box where a password was meant to be typed in.

Shit.

He reached for the password journal only for his hand to freeze at the sound of squeaky taps being twisted. Fuck, Derek was cutting the shower off, Stiles had run out of time and the only thing he managed to find was photographic evidence that he wasn't the only one who thought there was something not quite right between Stu and his Mate. Who the hell knew if he'd get another opportunity to snoop like that? He'd have to figure something out, maybe wait until he was sure Derek was asleep and search again then.

'Bout time his insomnia came in handy for _something_.

He quickly put the journal back where he found it, wincing at the sound of metal wheels rolling on metal tracks and hoping Derek wasn't trying to listen in on what was happening in his guest room. He closed the laptop with a click, not bothering to shut it down, hoping to get another crack at it later. Stepping away from the desk, he glanced around for something to do that would make him seem less suspicious, since he hadn't actually unpacked anything—and most likely wouldn't be—and making up a bed wouldn't take the ten minutes Derek had been in the shower.

He suddenly remembered the alpha's earlier offer of a drink and his statement that Stiles should feel free to help himself to anything. Hanging in the kitchen was definitely less suspicious than hanging alone in a bedroom with no real source of entertainment. At least in a kitchen he could claim he was looking at dinner options.

After a quick stop in the bathroom to relieve his screaming bladder he'd ignored for far too long, he hurried his way to the kitchen, peeking down the hall that led to the master bedroom. He could hear shuffling, drawers opening and closing, clothes being put on, and he quickly grabbed something from the fridge, glad it was a bottle of water and not anything gross or weird. Derek looked like the kinda guy to have a large stock of Muscle Milk and veggie juices.

Stiles rounded the island counter, pulling out a stool and plopping down on it, before opening his bottle and drinking deep. Big mistake. Fucking hell, who the hell knew water could cause brain freeze? He grimaced as he rubbed his forehead, mouth opening in a silent pained cry, but he pushed it all aside when he heard a door open. His heartbeat kicked up a notch and he mentally told himself to chill out. What he did wasn't all that bad. He'd been busted doing much worse by his dad. None of this was a big deal. At all. Really.

By the time Derek rounded the corner and entered the kitchen, Stiles was completely calm and his heartbeat had smoothed out. Until he turned his head and actually _saw_ the alpha.

Derek was dressed in a pair of black mesh basketball shorts and gray tank, the top like a second skin as it clung to broad pectorals and hinted at an eight pack. His hair was wet, unstyled, ruffled, like he rubbed a towel over it then called it done. His skin was still damp, giving the tan flesh a nice sheen that adding to the god-like aura the guy gave off.

The omega's eyes went wide, jaw dropping as he gaped at the other man. Fuck, he was attractive, and his recent scrubbing had washed away all the scents he'd picked up over the course of the day, leaving the pure aroma of _Derek_ and _alpha_ and _mine_ that had Stiles' wolf howling and his dick twitching and his passage dampening and his heart pounding. He honestly couldn't remember ever being so turned on by anything non-explicit in his life and he had to grip the edge of the counter with white knuckles so he didn't just climb up on it, shuck his pants, and _present_ like his instincts were screaming at him to do.

' _Not cool, not allowed, not mine,_ ' he mentally reminded himself, only for the thought to completely fly out the window when his eyes followed a bead of water as it slowly slid down the right side of Derek's throat. Fuck, what Stiles wouldn't give to follow that drop's path with his tongue, to suck the hollow of his throat where it pooled with others, to taste the clean water and the salt of Derek's skin as...

A low rumbling growl sounded out, causing more blood to rush down south as he shuddered. His head automatically tilted to the right, putting his neck on display, submitting to the alpha. Feeling daring, he glanced up, noting how Derek's eyes were glowing red before he slammed them shut tight, rubbing at them with his thumb and index finger. He cut off the growls and turned away, giving Stiles an unimpeded view of the Claiming Bite on the left side of his neck.

Shit.

Right.

Stuart.

Definite boner killer right there, being reminded of the fact that the guy you wanted to be knotted by had repeatedly done just that to your _twin_ whom he was _Mated to_.

Goddammit.

Derek fully turned around, opening up the fridge and practically sticking his entire upper-half inside, asking if his guest had been waiting there long.

The omega cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, ignoring the fact that a few drops of his slick had leaked out and were currently soaking into the back of his boxers. And while he was thankful for the change in subject, he wasn't too thrilled that Derek was once again ignoring what was going on between them. 

Probably for the best though. No, _definitely_ for the best. Nothing could ever happen between the two of them and Stiles knew it. He just needed to stop forgetting that little nugget of info before it got him in trouble. Or worse.

That thought in mind, he focused on their current conversation and shoved aside his instincts. For Stuart, he pinned to the forefront of his mind. For his brother.

"Not really," he answered with a shrug of one shoulder, knowing it wasn't a lie. How his words would be interpreted wasn't his problem.

Derek nodded as he pulled out of the fridge, bottle of Muscle Milk in hand making Stiles internally fist pump at his proper assumption. The S-Dub leaned back against the counter as he opened his drink, the scent of artificial strawberries soon filling the air. "You all unpacked?" he questioned in a friendly manner before taking a drink.

Stiles shook his head, knowing there was no way to lie or verbally misdirect this one. "I tend not to unpack when I stay away from home." Not a lie. Terrible habit probably, resulting in wrinkled clothes that made Lydia glare, but whatever. Nothing a quick iron couldn't fix. Besides, wasn't like he'd packed anything all that fancy.

More nodding from the other man as he lowered his bottle, scent growing melancholic and wistful. "Stu didn't unpack until he'd been living here nearly a month and I'm pretty sure he only did it 'cause he was out of clean clothes and had to do laundry."

Stiles snorted humorously at the mental image of his brother _actually_ doing laundry, almost tempted to ask if the guy had remembered to separate the colors, only to stop himself. It was the perfect opportunity, the perfect segue into what Stiles _really_ wanted to discuss and he wasn't about to blow this one like he had his chance to snoop around the office/guest room.

"Speaking of my brother," he started, folding his forearms on the counter and leaning over it, getting closer to Derek. He looked him square in the eye, noting the cocked eyebrow and the curious yet apprehensive notes on his face and in his scent. "You still owe me that explanation for why he left Beacon Hills."


	11. The Truth.

"You still owe me that explanation for why he left Beacon Hills."

Silence descended over the room at Stiles' words, the statement hanging heavy in the air. Even the refrigerator quit its humming as though anxious to hear Derek's response, the AC no longer blowing in the background. It was eerie really, and Stiles shifted in his seat under the discomfort of it all. But he didn't regret it, refused to second guess his timing or his wording or his request. He needed the reasons, needed to know what the hell was so bad it had his twin believing his only option was leaving town. And it wasn't just for his own sanity that Stiles needed that explanation; it was for his dad's peace of mind, too, so his dad could stop feeling like he'd failed in his parental role and stop questioning his abilities as a cop.

With that thought in mind, he quit fidgeting and pinned the other man with a hard look. Omega or not, he was not backing down, not letting some alpha push him around or bully him into changing his mind. He'd come to Oak Creek for answers—and his brother—and if he couldn't leave with Stu, he was damn sure gonna leave with some closure.

Derek pulled his bottle of Muscle Milk away from his mouth, gulping loudly as he swallowed the strawberry drink, the rest of his body freezing up. He smelled stunned, apprehensive, worried, confused, all rolled up into one crazy conflagration of scents. After a long moment, he slowly twisted the cap back on the bottle and set it aside before wrapping his arms around himself and hanging his head with a sigh. He looked vulnerable like that, his arms bare, his shoulders slumped, his body curling in on itself. Stiles had to fight to keep himself in his seat, fingers curling into fists on top of the counter, locking his muscles so he wouldn't do anything stupid, like say go over and wrap the alpha in a hug as he murmured comforting words about how it was okay and he'd make everything better.

Because it wasn't okay and he wouldn't make it better. Stuart was dead, potentially at the hands of Derek, and Stiles was on a mission to find out why, starting with his twin's reasons for running away.

Besides, Derek wasn't his to comfort, wasn't his to hold or even touch in the first place. Oak Creek had old school rules about it, about omegas being off limits to all but their Mated, meaning Stiles wasn't about to be touched in any manner by anyone—except for Lydia, but that went without saying really. And him initiating contact more than likely wouldn't negate those rules or excuse any returned caresses. It would also most likely give him a reputation as a slut—despite nothing sexual happening—or a weak, touch-starved, needy little omega who couldn't last a day without rubbing all over some random alpha. Not the kinda rumor he wanted spread, especially not in a town full of people he didn't know.

And then there was the biggest reason of all, the fact that they were Mates, _True_ Mates, regardless of whatever relationship Derek previously had with Stu. Meaning Stiles and Derek wouldn't stop at just one hug. No, once that initial touch happened, it would spark a fire the likes of which neither of them had experienced and the only way to put it out would be through a more traditional, more basic kind of mating. Those touches wouldn't stop until Stiles was knotted and covered in Derek's scent in the most carnal of ways.

Which was why Stiles stayed put. Because Derek wasn't his, would never be his, had proven that by leaving the room when they'd locked eyes and the truth had been revealed. The Claiming Bite on the side of his neck, one the alpha was now absently rubbing his palm over, was more evidence of that fact.

Stiles shoved aside his upset at not having Derek the way he wanted and needed, putting his brother's face at the forefront of his mind as a reminder of what he was there for and what his real motivations were. It worked, as long as he ignored his wolf's jealous and possessive rumblings, and he was better able to focus on Derek and his words.

Whenever he'd finally deign to speak anyway.

The older man sighed, refolding his arms over his chest in a move that enhanced muscles Stiles pointedly ignored, Derek staring at some spot on the wood floor at the base of the island counter.

"I met Stu his first day in town," he began lowly, tone flat and giving nothing away. It wasn't what Stiles was used to hearing, wasn't the happily sighed words coupled with heart-eyes and goofy grins that usually came when someone retold the first time they met their Mate.

Another thing to put in the " _Derek's Suspicious Behavior_ " file.

"He came in without papers, just like you did, and I was the one who handled his intake interview." Derek paused, lifting his head and scratching at his stubbled jaw as he looked away distantly, face betraying nothing. It was all very clinical, detached almost, and the omega couldn't help but cock his head to the side in puzzlement at that. "He told me." Another pause, a shaky breath, then he went on. "He told me he was being stalked by an alpha, had been for a while, and he needed to go somewhere safe where he couldn't be found or hurt."

A chill washed over Stiles at that, dread causing his throat to tighten and his stomach to twist itself into knots. He'd known it, had sensed it pretty much since Lydia put that thought in his head. Although if he was completely honest with himself, he'd had a feeling that'd been why Stu left pretty much since the morning Stiles had woken up and discovered his twin was gone.

But, fuck, did it suck to be right sometimes.

"Stu never gave me a name," Derek continued, jaw tense as he spoke, like he was still aggravated over his Mate's refusal to give him any info. "Never described him or gave me any details. I think he knew I'd track the guy down and rip his throat out. With my teeth."

"Good," Stiles muttered, scowling at the slate countertop.

The scent of confusion filled the air before the alpha's next words. "Good that he never gave—?"

"Good that you'd rip his throat out," he interrupted, flipping hard eyes up at the other man, fingers clenched into fists once more.

Derek looked genuinely puzzled, as well as completely sincere and grave. "Of course," he pointed out earnestly, shrugging a shoulder. "I care about— _cared_ ," he corrected himself through gritted teeth. "About Stu. I would've done anything and everything to protect him and keep him safe and happy. Still would."

His heartbeat was even, no lies in his words, and a small, optimistic part of Stiles took it to mean that Derek was genuine with his feelings regarding Stuart, that it meant the alpha would never do anything to harm him.

Then again, lots of abusers never _believe_ that they're hurting their Mate, so their words come across as the truth, too. But something about Derek... It just... Stiles' gut was telling him that Derek wasn't an abuser or a killer, but he honestly had no idea if he should buy that. Yeah, he'd been raised to trust his wolf, but his wolf was blinded by _Mate_ and _alpha_ and _mine_ so it clearly wasn't thinking straight and shouldn't be listened to.

Or should it? He'd already had the thought earlier that his wolf had yet to steer him wrong in their twenty years together.

Fuck, he was confused. He needed answers, needed to find the killer, not just to bring his brother justice, but to also make himself feel a little less crazy with a little less conflicting thoughts in his head.

Scowling at the counter, he shoved his mental debate aside, focusing instead on Derek's previous declaration and the words themselves. He'd said he'd cared about Stuart, not loved, _cared_. Wouldn't someone who was Mated _love_ their partner? Wasn't that the whole point of getting Mated, to show the world that you love someone so much that you can't live without them?

There was a major piece there that was missing, something he wasn't seeing and Derek wasn't showing. Stiles couldn't solve the mystery of his brother's death without all the cards being on the table and he had a sinking feeling that the alpha was stashing a couple aces up his sleeves.

"He was in custody for a week," Derek continued, scratching at his jaw before refolding his arms. "Whittemore wasn't working for us at the time so he had no one to vouch for him. But Stu didn't complain once, never asked to be let out or use a phone to call anyone, just stayed quiet inside his cell." He let out a small huff as he shook his head in disbelief, scent turning melancholic once more. "I asked him why once, why he wasn't bitching more about having rights and needing to be let out. He said." He paused, swallowing hard as he looked to the side, eyes shining as he remembered something. "He said it was the safest he'd felt in years and that he didn't wanna leave because of that."

Tears pricked at the back of Stiles' eyes, making them sting, and he turned his head away, cupping his chin in his hand with his elbow on the counter. His leg began bouncing up and down, sock covered foot hooked over the crossbar of the stool, anxiety causing his stomach to roll. His brother had been terrified for _years_ , not just those final few months that Stiles had actually noticed. _Years_. Fuck, what kind of twin was he to where he couldn't recognize it, couldn't realize that his own flesh and blood, the other half of him, was freaked out over some alpha maniac who was stalking him to the point where Stuart felt like his only option of escaping it was to run away. It was all his fault: his brother leaving, his brother's death, all of it because he was so stuck in his own head and his own bullshit that he couldn't see what was going on with his twin.

“Years, huh?” he rasped out, fingers of his free right hand curling into fists, nails digging into his palms, the sting barely registering in his buzzing mind. If only he hadn't been so selfish, so caught up in other high school drama bullshit and noticed that something was up with Stuart before, maybe he could've helped him out, convinced him to get help elsewhere, maybe even tell their dad and let the sheriff handle it. Then he wouldn't have had to run away and he wouldn't have been killed.

Regardless of the fact that he hadn't been the one to slash open his twin's throat, Stiles was every bit as responsible for his death as the actual murderer.

Derek nodded, hand rubbing up and down his bare bicep. “He said he hid it from you and your dad because he didn't want you guys getting involved and getting hurt because of it,” he explained, almost as though he was reading the omega's thoughts on that very thing. That, or Stiles' scent was full of more guilt than he initially thought. “He dealt with it as it came, went about his life as if nothing was wrong, until the alpha threatened both you and your dad unless Stu acted like a good little omega and obeyed his alpha.”

A chill raced up Stiles' spine at those words, mind flashing to that pseudo-vision he'd had the night before and the threat that had been growled out through fangs during his twin's final moment.

" _I'm gonna show you what happens to little omegas who shove their snouts where it doesn't belong and don't obey their alphas._ "

He frowned at the side wall, at the coincidence of the word choice between the two statements, claims of alphas needing to be obeyed, of omegas being little—despite Stu and Stiles actually being _tall_ for their dynamic. A red flag was popping up in his mind once again, wolf yowling, like it was wordlessly telling Stiles that it was Very Fucking Important. Turning his head and dropping his hand, he met Derek's eyes, his own narrowing in suspicion and curiosity.

“He said those exact words?” he double-checked. “Little omegas should obey their alphas?”

Derek's own brow furrowed, lips parting as he drawled out a “yeah”, head tilting to the side in his own puzzled expression. “That mean something to you?”

Shit. He'd forgotten that he was talking to Oak Creek's version of a police officer and a detective, and not an incompetent Haigh type either. The universe wouldn't make Stiles smart as a whip then give him a dumbass Mate, it just didn't work that way. Meaning Stiles had been figured out and he needed to think up a lie. Fast.

He shrugged as he shook his head, playing innocent and hoping it was at least a little bit convincing, otherwise he was the bad kind of screwed. “Just that we're clearly dealing with a dynamist asshole who needs to get with the fucking times and realize omegas aren't property and weren't created just to bend to an alpha's every whim, no matter how fucking out there or demeaning or abusive.” His eyes narrowed into a glare at the end, both hands curled into fists, jaw taut as he let his anger over fuckheaded alphas leak into his words and his scent.

The alpha in the room with him just stared at him for a long moment before nodding his head. “Agreed,” he stated honestly, his own features pulled into a look of righteous indignation. “Alphas like that should be punished to the full extent of the law, maybe even beyond that. I've been working with my mom to extend omega rights in California in the hopes it'll set a precedent and more states will follow. I can't _stand_ alphas that mistreat omegas, Mates or not, and it's why I wanted to track down the guy who'd been stalking Stu, to make sure he didn't do it to Stuart or anyone else ever again.”

Stiles' wolf began yipping excitedly in his head, jumping about, tail wagging. Because from the way Derek spoke, it seemed like he was very pro-omega and not the kind of alpha who believed an omega's place was in the kitchen or on their knees servicing and/or presenting. And the vibe Stiles had gotten from the pseudo-vision was that the alpha who'd killed Stu _was_ that kind, which could only mean that Derek hadn't killed his brother.

But there were still so many red flags when it came to their relationship, so many anomalies that pointed to a huge cover up of _something_. Meaning Derek wasn't fully in the clear as far as Stiles was concerned. And while normally his gut and his wolf would be trusted intrinsically, he couldn't in this instance, not when the word “ _Mate_ ” kept repeating in his head every time he thought of the alpha across from him.

He thought of poor Tracy Stewart, her arm in a sling and her neck bandaged up. Her wolf probably had the same blinders on when it came to Donovan, that unwavering belief that he was a good guy and that everything was okay because he was an alpha and her Mate and wouldn't do anything bad to her. Stiles refused to make her mistakes, refused to be like her.

And it made him sick to his stomach to think that Stu might have actually fallen into her patterns.

Sure, there'd been no mention of him showing up with mysterious bruises or terrible lies to cover up injuries, just comments over how once a month he'd seem more out of it than usual, more morose and upset. But abuse wasn't always physical; sometimes it was emotional, psychological, mental, sexual. And if anyone was capable of using their words to establish a position of power, it would be the son of the State Alpha.

No. Not after what Derek said and not when Talia Hale was working on gaining more rights for omegas. She'd been the one to push forth a statute for Mate abuse, the one who'd made it illegal to rape an omega during their heat or to use an omega's scent or pheromones as an excuse to sexually assault them. And from what he'd heard, she was now the one trying to work on a law to allow omegas more options when it came to employment opportunities, a story Stiles was following with an obsession, hoping it'd pass so he could get his own dream job of being a deputy—and not just one who rode the front desk and answered phones. No, if anyone would be raising their child to believe that omegas were equals and deserved fair treatment, it would be her.

Then again, sometimes a kid didn't follow their parents, didn't believe in what they did, disagreed with their values and opinions. There was every possibility that Derek fell into that category.

Fucking hell, all this not knowing bullshit was driving Stiles insane and he seriously needed some fucking answers. And soon.

He thought back on everything Derek had just told him, analyzing every word and phrase for clues, for something to tell him how the alpha truly felt about omegas. Only he didn't get very far in processing.

“You ready for dinner?” the older man changed the subject, pushing away from the counter and turning to the fridge. “I can't cook all that well, but I can throw something together.”

Stiles stared at his back as the alpha opened the fridge door and peered inside at its contents, ignoring the play of muscles under the gray tank and the memories of grabbing on to and scratching them up in his Dreams. Instead, he shook his head rapidly to catch up with the sudden switch in topic, trying to categorize everything and sort his own thoughts out before figuring out what was being discussed.

Right. Dinner. It was a meal people had around that time of day, he remembered, peeking at the clock on the microwave as it hung from a set of cabinets behind him.

His stomach rolled and grumbled and he honestly wasn't entirely sure he could handle putting food in it. He felt nauseous with an overabundance of emotions and information, not to mention still somewhat numb all over as he thought about _why_ Derek wouldn't be a good cook—alphas tending not to learn how to do so since it's stereotypically the omega's role to make the meals—and how Stu never really bothered learning either, only ever interested in something if it involved his laptop or tablet or smartphone. Stiles had been the one to take over the meal-making in the Stilinski house a couple years after the matriarch's death, sick of always eating out or ordering in or his dad's terrible attempts at cooking that ended up more in the trashcan than anyone's stomachs. And since Stiles was cooking, Stu just didn't bother with it, much like the laundry. Only reason he helped out with the cleaning was because their dad threatened to take his electronics if he didn't contribute in some way, glaring through thick rimmed glasses at Stiles as he was forced to vacuum, a chore they both despised.

But now there was no more glaring, no more bitching over having to help in the kitchen or whines about laundry. Because Stu was gone, never to burn toast or over-starch a shirt ever again.

The numbness spread and Stiles pulled his arms in closer to his body, huddling over the counter as he wrapped them around his stomach. “Not hungry,” he muttered, knowing he was heard by the way Derek nodded his head.

“Yeah. Me neither,” the alpha said softly, letting the fridge door shut as he smeared a hand over his face and turned to his guest. “Look, I, uh,” he started then stopping, rubbing at his eyes before folding his arms over his chest. “I don't wanna be a shit host or anything, but it's been kind of a day from Hell so—” He trailed off, seesawing his head in conclusion and bobbing his eyebrows in a “well, ya know” kinda way.

“I get it,” Stiles stated, corner of his lips pulling up briefly in a mock version of a sympathetic smile. And he did get it. He'd pretty much run away from home to find his brother, only to learn he was dead and had been Mated to _Stiles'_ Mate, who was Suspect Number One as well as refusing to acknowledge their connection and being sorta rude about it all. “Day from Hell” was putting it nicely.

Derek nodded more, roughing the back of his neck. “If you get hungry later, just help yourself to anything. There's,” he paused, waving a hand up and down the fridge in a general motion, wincing at his lame action. “Food and whatever.”

Stiles cocked an eyebrow at that, thinking that was more of something he'd do than someone else.

A bob of his brows dismissed it all, Derek stating he was off to hit the sack and wishing Stiles a good night. The omega returned the sentiment, watching over his shoulder as the other man retreated back to his room, hips sauntering as he walked. He thought of that old cliché over hating to see someone go but loving to watch them leave, eyes glued to a pretty nice ass and tongue subconsciously darting out to wet his lips.

Okay, yeah, that needed to stop happening, he mentally chastised himself, turning away abruptly. Derek wasn't his to ogle, was taken, belonged to his _twin_ and all the grumbling his wolf was capable of wasn't gonna change that fact. The guy was grieving for fuck's sake—even if he didn't look it or smell it, at least not as bad as Stiles' dad had, but the point still remained. Derek, off limits. The sooner Stiles realized that, the better.

Grabbing his half-empty bottle, he rose to his feet and tucked the stool under the counter before heading to the office-slash-guest room he'd been provided with, closing the door behind himself. And then abruptly drew a blank on what to do. He didn't wanna snoop, didn't wanna risk being overheard or Derek suddenly walking in saying he changed his mind and offering to have another chat, completely busting Stiles as he shoved his snout where it didn't belong.

He shivered as the murderous alpha's voice repeated those words in his head again and he shoved aside any and all temptation to go rummaging through things, forcing himself to think up other options to kill time.

He could shower, he reasoned, lifting his arm to sniff at his own pit. Not too stinky, but his skin definitely still held the scents of despair and worry and travel and the S-Dubs' HQ. Yeah, definitely could use a scrub down.

Heading over to the couch bed, he deposited his bottle on the nightstand and started emptying his pockets, tossing his keys next to the bottle and pausing when he slipped his phone out. The thing was still off and a press of the power button showed it had actually died at some point. Great.

Also, what the fuck? How?

Unless the S-Dubs had gone through it while they had it in their custody. Nice. Nothing like a violation of one's right to privacy to cap off a fun fucking day.

His charger was easily found on top of the other stuff he'd shoved in his duffel haphazardly, an outlet proving to be a bit harder to get to. He somehow managed to squeeze under Derek's desk, using a free space on a surge bar to plug in the charger. Phone hooked on the other end and resting on the desk itself, he mentally switched to the next step, telling himself to get ready for his shower, his body not following, eyes drawn to the photo of Derek's family and the unknown female couple. Once more he took in the stiffness between the alpha and his Mate, the way Laura stared at them dubiously, his own expression probably matching hers. There was something so very telling there, he just knew it but couldn't quite figure it out.

Whatever. He was tired and just _done_ with the day. Smearing a hand over his face, he turned away and headed back to his duffel, snatching out a plain gray tee, a pair of blue plaid flannel pants, and his toiletries bag. With one final glance at the photo, he left and headed straight for the bathroom across the alcove, forcing himself to focus on showering and not slipping on soap or something equally as ridiculous.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The shower only succeeded in getting him clean and smooth-faced from a shave. His mind was still buzzing, switching back and forth between too fucking tired to deal and having about fifty lines of thought at the same time. It didn't help that the shower itself was stocked with tiny bottles of toiletries one would find in a hotel: shampoo, conditioner, and soap, all scent-neutralizing and generic, like what he'd been told Stu had been scrubbed down with.

Yeah, didn't help. If anything, it just added more to his file of circumstantial shit that said Derek was guilty, something that made his wolf whine and his stomach clench in upset.

Back in the guest room, he glanced around the place, trying to figure out what to do next. The rest of the house was silent, the hum of the AC, the buzz of the refrigerator. Crickets chirped outside, the sky now fully dark—a fact he learned from peeking through the beige black-out blinds covering the window above the couch-bed—cicadas singing in the distance, an obnoxious owl hooting long and loud somewhere. Everything was still and—mostly—quiet and it caused his thoughts to get louder. He needed to drown them out, shut them up, even if it was only temporary.

After he shoved his dirty clothes in his duffel, he stepped over to Derek's desk, picking up his phone and switching it on. Only to wince when it was warmed up and running.

Seventeen missed calls.

Thirty-five missed texts.

Twelve voicemails.

All from his dad and Scott, he was willing to bet. Shit.

He scrolled through the texts, seeing the increasing worry from his best friend and the rising anger from his dad, stunned to find one from Allison asking him to send Scott a message to get him to quit worrying so much. He did as she asked, first sending her an apology for sticking her with a freaked out Scott all afternoon before shooting a quick “ _am fine, will explain later_ ” to his best friend.

The voicemails were next, the ones from Scott immediately deleted without even being listened to, knowing they'd be full of increasing puppy whines to get Stiles to please call back as his best friend grew more worried that they were fighting or that he'd done something wrong. Pretty much what had been said via text.

The ones from his dad, however, he had no choice but to hear them all out.

“ _Wanna explain to me why Deputy Smalley left me a message saying my son left the city to go on a road trip with some other alpha? Call me back. Soon._ ”

Well, fuck, totally busted. He really should've known that would happen. He was recognized by literally everyone in town, not just in the sheriff's department, so of course word would get to his dad about his leaving. He was just lucky that it happened while his dad was mid-flight and couldn't do anything to stop it.

He hit delete, then moved on to the next

“ _Just talked to Scott, he told me you were spending the day with Lydia but had no idea about a road trip. You've got a lot of explaining to do, Kid. Call me._ ”

Okay, more pissed, but nothing Stiles hadn't heard before. He could handle it.

“ _It's been an hour. Don't think avoiding me is gonna help you in this situation. This isn't one of those 'ignore the problem until it goes away' type of situations. I_ will _get the truth out of you and it'll be in your best interests for that to happen sooner rather than later._ ”

His dad was speaking through gritted teeth and Stiles could practically picture him pointing at the phone in anger, jaw tight and eyes narrowed as he chastised his son as though the omega was in front of him. He deleted it like the others and kept going.

“ _Starting to get seriously pissed here, Stiles. I just had to explain to Alpha Satomi and Alpha Katashi why I was snarling at my phone because my punk kid decided to leave town and is refusing to tell me where he is and if he's okay and what the hell he's up to. Call me back!_ ”

And now the growls were kicking in, although it was subdued and quiet, like his dad had snuck off to the side to call and didn't wanna be overheard. Crap, if his old man was bailing on important meet-n-greets to phone him, he was definitely pissed and Stiles was in for it more than he initially realized.

“ _So help me, Mieczyslaw, you better call me back within the next hour or I will track your ass down and drag you back to Beacon Hills kicking and screaming before giving you a punishment that even_ your _imagination couldn't come up with._ ”

Shit. The birth name was used, and somehow still perfectly pronounced through his dad's snarling words. He was dead. He was so fucking dead. He was better off just jumping on top of his brother's funeral pyre and turning to ashes with him than facing the wrath of his dad when they both got back home.

Assuming his dad didn't follow through on his threat of tracking Stiles down, which was entirely possible. The sheriff had shown up at a party when Stiles was in high school and had snuck out a window when grounded, determined to attend because he was delusional and stupid and still believing he had a shot with Lydia, who'd actually deigned to speak to him about something that wasn't their current chemistry experiment and invited him. His only saving grace was that Jackson had already run off at that point and wasn't around to give him shit for it the next day. Or for the next year.

The yelp Stiles had let out when his dad had hauled his half-drunken ass out by the scruff of his neck was the stuff of legends amongst his small group of friends.

Deleting that voicemail, he braced himself for the final one, already wincing at what he could only imagine would be a lot of growling and swearing and threats.

Only instead, there was a sad sigh down the line and his dad softly pleading with him, growls and swears nowhere to be found.

“ _Look, Kid,_ ” he began then paused, Stiles picturing him standing with a hand on his hip as he looked around the room, bottom teeth on display as he struggled to figure out what to say that would get through his son's thick skull. “ _I'm almost one-hundred percent positive this has to do with your brother and your insistence yesterday that you knew where he was, or that you had a pretty good idea. But running around the state after a cold trail isn't a good idea. I'm sorry I wasn't more help, but there's nothing I can do. And in all honesty, there's not much you can do either. Just. Just call me back, okay, Kid? Let me know you're all right so I'm not worrying about both sons. I love you._ ”

Aw, hell.

Guilt ate at Stiles, making his stomach churn and cause nausea to wash over him. His knees gave out and he slowly sank down onto the desk chair, smearing a hand over his face repeatedly, eyes shut tight in a wince. Fuck, he'd been a dick. It'd been a serious dick move to just up and leave like that. And, yeah, he had his reasons, good ones, starting and ending with the fact that there was no way his dad would've allowed him to leave if he knew what Stiles was up to. He'd pretty much had no choice but to do what he did. And now he was having to deal with the consequences.

Unless he gave in to his usual habit and just put it all off, pretended everything was okay and totally procrastinated on any punishment that may or may not come his way.

No. He'd only be making shit worse, not just for himself, but for his dad, too. The sheriff had already played the Missing Kid Card, already made the connection of worrying over them both, how they'd both took off without a word and left him scrambling to figure out why and if they were all right. Stiles couldn't make his dad suffer any more than he already was, already had been over the past couple years. _That_ would be the ultimate dick move.

With a sigh, he deleted the final voicemail then called his dad, not surprised when it was picked up after only two rings.

“ _Stiles?_ ” his dad rushed out in a breath, hope and concern flooding that one syllable and causing the omega's guilt to grow tenfold.

Swallowing, he stared ahead at the bookshelf, not paying attention to any titles, the spines looking familiar to him though. “Yeah,” he croaked out before clearing his throat. “It's me.”

“ _Oh thank god,_ ” he breathed out. The sound of voices in the background quietened before ending completely, a door closing as his dad moved somewhere more private. “ _Where the hell are you?_ ” he grit out through clenched teeth, relief gone now and replaced with anger as he remembered the kid he'd been worried over had run off without permission.

Stiles winced as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, picking at the flannel fabric on his knee. “Oak Creek.”

“ _Oak—Oak Creek? You're in Oak Creek right now?_ ” A huff sounded down the line, a disbelieving laugh, before his dad continued speaking through gritted teeth once more, trying to keep his temper and his voice down. “ _What the hell are you doing in Oak Creek?_ ”

“I had a hunch.” Okay, saying it out loud made him sound crazy and idiotic—which he probably was, considering what he'd done during the day—but he still didn't regret anything. “And I was right.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath down the line, his dad gasping before sputtering, pausing to clear his throat. “ _You—You—You found Stu? You found your brother?_ ” His voice was full of cautious optimism, hope, disbelief, all these things that made Stiles' chest clench and the lump in his throat grow even more,threatening to choke him right then and there.

Fuck, he was gonna have to break the news. It was almost worse than having it told to him, knowing that he was gonna have to break someone else's heart. And not just anyone else, but his _dad_ , a man who'd lost his Mate and had spent two years blaming himself and feeling like shit for his kid running off, a man who tried his best to be a single parent and the sheriff of an entire county and still believed he was a failure because one had left without reason.

Shit.

He stared down at the ground, watching the loose fabric of his pants move as his feet tapped out an anxious rhythm, licking his lips as he mentally tried to prepare himself for what he had to say. But how the hell did one do that? How the hell did one set themselves up for emotionally destroying one of the most important people in their life? It wasn't possible, couldn't be done. Yet he had to, somehow, someway.

“Not, uh. Not exactly,” he managed to get out, voice thick from the lump he couldn't get rid of no matter how hard he tried.

“ _Stiles,_ ” his dad responded cautiously, with care, like he was bracing himself for bad news. Which, Stiles knew, was for the best. “ _What are you trying to say?_ ”

He smeared a hand over his face as tears pricked the back of his eyes, sniffing loud. His skin tingled all over, heart feeling heavy in his chest, hand trembling where he held his phone to his ear, and fuck, he just didn't wanna do this. Couldn't do this. Fuck, someone, please, don't make him do this.

“He's dead, Dad.”

Fuck, shit, fuck.

He cleared his throat again, hating the tremor that was in it when he spoke, wiping under his nose before continuing on. “They found his body this morning. He'd been killed sometime during the night.”

There was a pause on the other end, the only sounds his dad's shaky breaths and a sighed out swear. “ _That scream you let out,_ ” he stated tremulously, trailing off and not finishing the conclusion they both knew he'd drawn.

“Yeah,” Stiles answered. “I felt it.”

“ _Jesus Christ,_ ” his dad muttered, followed by a few choice swears. He took several deep breaths, calming himself down, clearing his own throat before speaking again. “ _How you holding up? Never mind, stupid question. Are you safe right now? Where are you?_ ”

Leaning back, he crossed his ankles under the chair, folding his free arm over his stomach as he glanced about the office-slash-guest room. “I'm fine. I'm staying with Stu's Mate at their place.”

“ _Derek?_ ” the alpha questioned in surprise, voice switching to sheriff mode. “ _He a good guy? He taking care of you? You sure you're safe there?_ ”

Stiles grimaced at that, staring at the closed down and imagining the other alpha, the one who was most likely asleep in his bed at that moment. There was no honest way to answer that question and no way to answer it that would please his dad or put him at ease. It was another situation where Stiles was screwed no matter what he said or did, something he was frankly getting fucking sick of. But it didn't seem like those moments were going away any time soon so he just had to suck it up and deal.

Not that he had any other option really.

“I, uh. That's what I'm tryna figure out,” he answered honestly, gripping the back of his neck and rubbing it roughly.

His dad sighed long and hard down the phone line, making him wince as he pictured the “What the hell am I gonna do with this crazy ass kid?” look his dad was most likely wearing: arm folded over his chest, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight, face scrunched up and lips a harsh line. “ _I don't suppose there's any way I can convince you to get back in the car and go home first thing in the morning, is there?_ ”

It sometimes surprised Stiles how well his dad actually knew him and then he felt like an idiot for being shocked by it. The guy didn't get his position 'cause he was pretty.

Not that his dad was unattractive, because he was a handsome man. Whatever. Point was, he was smart, observant, and a damn good crime solver, hence him being elected. Repeatedly.

“Nope,” he answered, popping the “p”. “And don't bother trying to convince Lydia to drag me back because she's not leaving either. She found her Mate here.”

A surprised yet accepting “ _huh_ ” was the response he got to that factoid, followed by “ _Well. Good for her. But,_ ” he added on, voice hardening and brokering no argument. “ _Be. Careful. I still don't like the idea of you staying with a strange alpha you don't know, one you aren't entirely sure if you're safe with._ ”

Stiles wanted to argue that it'd be okay, his instincts screaming at him to defend his Mate's honor and set his dad straight, but he couldn't. Because his dad couldn't know that Derek was his Mate. Because his dad had a point and Stiles really didn't know if he was safe there.

Head hanging, he let his free hand dangle between his knees, staring at the beige carpet. “I can take care of myself,” he pointed out, only slightly indignant, knowing his dad didn't mean any offense. “I'm not some weak-ass omega bitch who can't protect themselves. My dad made sure of that.” He smirked, the action growing with the snort he got in response.

“ _I know that, but I also taught your brother the same stuff and look at how that—_ ” He cut himself off, realizing a little late what he'd been about to say.

Stiles winced at the implication, chest clenching like it most likely always will at the mention of his brother, like it always did at the mention of his mother.

“ _Just,_ ” his dad breathed out, pausing to sigh resignedly. “ _Please be careful. And the second you feel like you're in danger or in over your head, get the hell out of there._ ”

“Yes, Dad,” he placated, rolling his eyes at the overprotective parent routine.

“ _I mean it, Mieczyslaw._ ”

Shit. Birth name again.

He swallowed hard at the mention of it, at the alpha tone leaking into the words, fighting the urge to tilt his head to the side in supplication. “Okay. I'll get out when things get hairy.”

His dad sighed again, muttering about what a terrible liar his kid was. “ _I want text updates throughout the day, let me know you're all right. And a phone call every night. And we are having a_ serious _discussion over your leaving town without permission when we both get home. Don't think I don't know how you pulled that off._ ”

“I plead the fifth,” he answered on automatic, refusing to get Lydia in trouble, even if his dad already had a gut feeling she'd been behind it. Although really, his dad probably thought Stiles had forged the papers, having already busted him copying RFID cards for various off-limits offices and rooms in the sheriff's department.

“ _Right,_ ” he answered flatly, his usual response to his son saying that. “ _Be careful. Love you, Kid._ ”

“Love you, too, Pops. And you be careful, too.”

“ _Will do._ ”

They exchanged final goodbyes and hung up, Stiles putting his phone on the desk before leaning his head back, clasped hands resting on top of his closed eyes. His chest still felt tight, but something had slightly lessened, his guilt eased now that his dad knew where he was and what was going on. And yeah, he was really fucking in for it when he got back to Beacon Hills, but he'd take any and all punishment that would be doled out. It would all be worth it when he found Stu's killer and put the whole thing to rest.

That thought in mind, he headed back to the bathroom to brush his teeth and get ready for bed. He was drained, emotionally, mentally, psychologically, and wanted nothing more than a full night of restful, peaceful sleep. The universe owed him that much.


	12. The Touch.

The Dream started out in the familiar way it always did: Stiles on his back, grass tickling his bare skin, sun warm on his flesh. His left hand crept out to the side, coming across the familiar heat of his Mate, the back of his fingers tickling up hairy forearms and making him smile.

His Mate surged up to roll on top of him and Stiles automatically parted his legs, welcoming him there. A large hand cupped the back of his thigh, pressing it towards his chest and tilting his hips up, putting his hole on display. He didn't question any of it, didn't feel shy or self-conscious the way he would if this were happening elsewhere. Because this was his Mate, his perfect partner who was created just for him. He wasn't gonna judge, wasn't gonna laugh, wasn't gonna shame him for being eager or wanton or slutty.

Besides, given the hard cock that was sliding between his cheeks, his Mate was just as eager as he was.

That was the beautiful part of these Dreams, they were both ready from the get-go. There was no trying to get one another hard, no taking off clothes, no making Stiles wet or opening him up. There was just the two of them getting into the perfect position and his Mate sliding inside, joining them in that most basic way, the way they both craved so badly for.

Reaching down, he gripped his cheeks, pulling them apart and putting his gaping hole on display even more. His teeth sank into his bottom lip, his head tilting back in supplication, a whine vibrating in his throat as he wordlessly tried to beg, knowing there was no use in trying to speak. Warm breath tickled the side of his neck, a wet tongue tracing a tendon there followed by the scratch of whiskers. He moved his head so his lips were by his Mate's ear, mouthing a “please” and hoping it was understood, hips bucking as much as they could against the weight pressing them down.

A rumble was his Mate's answer, whiskers scratching at his sensitive skin. The back of the other man's hand rubbed against his cheek as he reached for his own hard cock, lining himself up before pressing inside.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles breathed out, head tilting back again as his body accepted the invasion, the familiar phantom stretch of his Mate filling him up.

The alpha braced himself on a forearm by Stiles' head, his own ducked down, other hand moving to grip the omega's hip when he bottomed out. The leaner male wrapped all of his limbs around the other male, holding him as close as possible, squeezing the hard length inside of him. His Mate stuttered out a gasp against bare skin, entire body shuddering, inspiring Stiles to do it again and earning a pleasure-filled growl.

He whimpered, feeling more slick being produced and further dampen his passage, leaking out past his Mate's cock and sliding down his crack. He groaned in frustration, bucking his hips once more, another wordless hint that made him hate the silent way things were done in their Dream state.

His Mate nodded, pulling out until the mushroom head was tugging at his stretched rim then pressing inside again. Stiles' head tilted back with a moan, back arching to pull the alpha inside him more, to make him go deeper, to feel him more. The other man buried his head in the crook of the omega's neck, inhaling his scent with heavy pulls that Stiles could feel against his sensitive flesh. The hand on his hip moved to cup around the back of his shoulder, fingers of the other hand burying in his hair as he was cradled close.

The position made him shiver, chest still tight with emotions carrying over from the real world. He knew nothing could get him there, but fuck, he... He was being _protected_. His alpha was covering him like a shield, was holding him close but with care, and while normally being treated like a fragile little omega weakling would piss him the fuck off, in that moment, it was bringing tears to his eyes.

He had to shut them tight, lifting his head to bury his own face in his alpha's shoulder, digging blunt, chewed on fingernails into his shoulder blades and clinging on. Because he needed this, this illusion of safety, this belief that his alpha wouldn't let anything happen to him. It was stupid and idiotic and stereotypical and everything he'd been fighting and rebelling against, but sometimes, instincts won out over rational and logical thought. Sometimes it felt too damn good and too damn easy to just give in to nature and let his body and his wolf do what they knew was supposed to be done.

And in that moment, he knew he should let his alpha protect and shelter and take care of him.

Lips dragged their way up along the side of his face, a comforting tickle before they were pressed to the corner of his eye. It was like his alpha could sense what he was going through, could sense that he needed this, needed the protection and safety and was promising to give it to him. He nuzzled their cheeks together, his whiskers rough against Stiles' smooth skin, scratching as he mingled their scents and marked the omega as his, another layer of protection against anyone who would dare hurt his Mate.

His hips still moved in slow, rolling motions, the drag in and out smooth, the build-up slow and even. It wasn't sex, it wasn't fucking, it was making love, a gentle promise without words to be there for one another. The weight of it was heavy in his chest and he sniffed against it, a tear leaking from between clenched eyelids.

His Mate breathed out a “ _shh_ ” by his ear, lips dragging along the shell and making him shiver. “ _I've got you_ ,” his Mate murmured, voice soft in his ear but no less intense in their meaning. “ _I'll keep you safe._ ”

Sex made Stiles' brain sluggish and it took him a moment to realize that his Mate _had spoken to him_ , that he'd actually heard his voice. It wasn't a groan or a moan, a rumble of a growl against his chest or a breathed out swear he could only feel tickling against his skin. No, it was actual words that were spoken out loud and he'd _heard_ them.

He pulled his head back so fast he damn near slammed it on the ground, saved only by the hand still cradling the back of it. At that moment, he felt his Mate lifting his own head, his movements paused, and Stiles waited for the inevitable urge to shut his eyes, for the Dream to take control and force him to look elsewhere.

But it didn't.

Instead, he came face to face with his Mate, with his strong jawline and blade nose and sharp cheekbones, with those full eyebrows and slim lips and dark whiskers, with those bright eyes that weren't quite green but something else entirely.

His own whiskey orbs flicked all over the alpha's face, hand coming up to touch, to make sure it was happening. He traced the slender line of his nose, dragged along his bottom lip, cupped his cheek. His Mate kissed his palm then leaned into his touch, a pleased rumble emanating from his chest as they locked eyes once more.

“ _Derek?_ ” he asked dubiously, voice shaking, body trembling from the enormity of the moment.

Derek nodded, weak smile on his face, eyes switching back and forth between Stiles'. “ _Yeah. It's me,_ ” he responded breathily, seemingly unsure of the reaction he'd get to the big reveal.

“ _Oh thank god,_ ” Stiles rushed out, moving his hand to the back of the alpha's neck and hauling him in close for a kiss.

Their lips clashed together before Derek took control, moving them together in a way that made Stiles' head spin despite the fact that he was still laying down. The alpha tucked his legs in close then started thrusting once again, powering into him with long, deep strokes that had him moaning each time he was filled. The formation of his knot came sooner than usual, the revelation of their Mate-dom building them up faster than they normally would, Stiles feeling his spine tingle and balls tighten earlier than ever.

He pulled away from his Mates' mouth, unable to keep them together as it became harder to breathe. He was on overload with everything, the feeling of being filled so fucking perfectly, the way his inner-walls were rubbed and prostate ground against, the knowledge that he was with Derek while performing this most intimate of acts, it was all too much and he could barely pull air into his lungs. There was too much inside him, emotions going haywire and he felt filled to bursting, knew it was only a matter of time before he was gonna explode.

“ _Close,_ ” he murmured through a whine, his Mate's forehead leaning against his, sliding with their mingled sweat and the motion of his thrusts. “ _'M so close._ ”

Derek nodded, teeth sinking into his bottom lip before slipping off with a swear. “ _Do it,_ ” he breathed, tilting his head down as he lifted his torso, staring down between their bodies but keeping their foreheads pressed together. “ _Wan' see. Fuck, wanna see you come so bad, Stiles._ ”

The omega followed his line of sight, feeling another rush of arousal at the sight of flexing abs and pistoning hips from his Mate. “ _Der,_ ” he groaned, hand slipping to cling on to a sweat slick shoulder, nail beds tingling with the threat of his claws. “ _Der. Almost._ ”

“ _God, baby, please,_ ” the alpha begged, letting out a whine, hips moving harder as he worked his cock in and out, his growing knot catching on his rim and causing a delicious sort of tug with every thrust. “ _Please, please, come for me. Please come._ ”

He nodded rapidly, his every breath a shaky gasp as his body seemed to draw up tight all over. His toes curled from where they were hanging, ankles crossed on his alpha's lower back, his claws digging in and drawing blood, gums tingling as his fangs descended. He felt his every muscle tense up, his balls drawing up even tighter, closer, his stomach clenching in anticipation. Almost, almost, almost...

Stiles' eyes shot open as his hips surged up into the air, feet flat on the couch-bed below him. His hand slammed down on the mattress pad, mouth hanging open on a silent cry as he came. His body remained locked in that position as he released into his flannel pj pants, air trapped in his lungs but the blood still rushing as his entire being trembled from his orgasm.

When he was finally done and breathing again, he collapsed onto the bed, the mattress creaking from the motion. Fucking hell, he'd heard Dreams got more intense after meeting your Mate, but he had no clue it was _that_ much. It was almost beyond what he could handle, and really, he figured that made sense. Made one wanna get with their Mate as soon as possible and start that whole procreating thing without delay—not that same sex Mates _could_ , but it was hard telling instincts that at times.

Only Stiles couldn't. 'Cause his Mate was technically his brother-in-law and a murder suspect and number one on the list of “DO NOT TOUCH”.

He breathed out a swear as he ran a hand through his damp hair, his entire body covered in a layer of sweat, his crotch and ass covered in a combination of his slick and his come. He felt gross, smelly, and horribly empty and unfulfilled. His wolf was whining in his head, brain alerting him to the fact that he was in the same house as his Mate and it would be beyond easy to just tip-toe across the building, sneak into his room, slip into his bed, and recreate that Dream for real.

Assuming, of course, that Derek even _wanted_ to.

His mind was hit with a flash of the alpha leaving the interrogation room at the S-Dub's HQ after they'd locked eyes and he knew that there was no way Derek would be cool with any sort of reenactment or recreating or re-anything involving Stiles.

Admitting defeat before he even tried, he crawled out of bed, wincing at the mess he'd made in the sheets. He'd been given permission to use the laundry room though, so he'd wash 'em to make up for it. Least he could do.

After grabbing clean pajamas from his duffel—and silently thanking his need to overpack at times and paranoidly always taking a spare everything—he stepped out the room and paused in the alcove, mind buzzing once again. Was Derek still stuck mid-orgasm? Stiles had heard that it took at least twenty minutes for a knot to go down and he wondered if it was true even when it wasn't tying someone together. If that was the case, then wouldn't the alpha be stuck knotting the air at that moment? Assuming of course Derek had even had a Dream like Stiles did. Did they happen simultaneously between Mates or was Stiles the only one suffering?

He strained his ears to listen in on the other side of the house, only picking up the sounds of a low bass groove, an electronic beat overlaying and a female vocalizing. Music Stiles didn't recognize, especially not muffled through walls. Not that it mattered. The whole point in him trying to listen in on the happenings in that room was to hear if Derek was coming—or _still_ coming really—and that was a fail.

Giving up, he headed to the bathroom, taking his second shower of the night, making it quick and thorough so he didn't raise any suspicions in his host for why he was taking one at such an ungodly hour. He took full advantage of the scent-neutralizing soap though, scrubbing himself down until his skin was red and raw, making sure to wash away any and all evidence of the Dream he'd just had.

Clean, dried, and changed, he shuffled back to his room, still only hearing music coming from Derek's room, the same deep bass groove, electronic pop, female vocals of before, only with a different tune. Back in the office, Stiles stashed his soiled PJs at the bottom of his duffel, hoping the scent of his clean laundry would cover that of his come.

Couldn't say the same of the sheets though.

He winced as he looked at them, scenting the sweat and come and slick that was stuck to them, his own natural scent overriding that of the detergent used on the sheets. He really should just go ahead and get them in the washer, get the stains out before they fully set in and make an even bigger mess, not to mention he was gonna have to get in that bed and go back to sleep.

Orrrr...

Peering around the room, he recognized the opportunity for what it was, another chance to snoop in his brother's stuff and look for clues. And really, he rationalized, starting laundry at two am was suspicious as hell, almost worse than taking a shower then. Definitely shady.

Mind made up, he strolled over to his brother's desk and sat down, taking a minute to swivel in the chair, rocking it back and forth, sticking his bottom lip out in an impressive expression. Damn nice chair. Forcing himself to focus, he opened up the laptop and clicked the Starfleet icon, cursing blinking in the bar asking for a password.

Right. Shit.

He grabbed the password journal out the drawer, typing in every one that was in there and still remaining locked out. He tried passwords he remembered Stu having back when he lived at home, passwords he figured Stu would use, _Star Trek_ references and _X-Men_ characters. Snatching up his phone, he Googled Kirk's birthday, the zip code for his hometown, the year of his graduation, the numbers on the outside of the _Starship Enterprise_. Still, nothing.

Muttering out a few swears aimed in his brother's direction—then dealing with the subsequent guilt of cursing out a dead guy—he rose to his feet and headed for the bookshelves. The shower switched on elsewhere in the house and Stiles felt his face heat up and his cock twitch as he realized why Derek would be showering at that time of night.

Answered the question about whether or not he knotted in real life. Apparently he did, and he needed to wait for it to go down before he could shower.

That, or he was being polite and let Stiles go first and then just waited for the hot water to restock or something.

He liked the first theory.

Shaking his head to rid himself of any and all thoughts of knots and Derek, Stiles focused on the plethora of books in front of him. No fucking way would he be able to search through all of them to find a hint about a fucking password. Really, he was just taking a shot in the dark that Stuart would've left something in one of them to give it away. But maybe it would jog Stiles' memory about something, spark an idea.

If he had any sort of idea where to start.

Okay, the _Star Wars_ Expanded Universe books, while totally fucking awesome, were clearly scratched from the list of possibilities. The _Star Trek_ novels however...

He slid a well-worn paperback from its spot, the pages dogeared, the cover frayed, and the spine creased in several places. His twin's scent was embedded in the pages, along with the scent of old paper and ink, and he took a moment to just inhale it, hating the fact that one day, the novel would only smell of old book and no longer that familiar scent that was close to his own but not the same. With care, he opened the cover, eyes coming across familiar cursive in black pen, the handwriting making his chest hurt.

“ _To my Stuey,  
Live long and prosper.  
Love always,  
Mom._”

She'd been the only one to call him that and after her death, he would snarl at anyone who dared try to call him “Stuey”.

An idea sparked in his mind and he gently put the book back before rushing back to the desk. He tried “Stuey”, their mom's name Claudia, her maiden name, her birth date, her death date. He tried his own birthday, his dad's, their parent's anniversary, the name of their old pets, street addresses, schools, mascots, everything and getting nothing.

He let out a groan of frustration as he leaned back, the chair moving with him, hands roughing over his face in frustration. It really shouldn't be that hard to break into his twin's laptop. Wasn't like it was the first time he'd done it.

But that was when Stu still lived at home and Stiles actually _knew_ him. They'd had two years apart, two years of differing experiences, two years of growing and changing. There was every possibility that something from that time apart had inspired this new password.

That or he was just too damn tired to think.

Maybe he should just quit procrastinating and change the sheets.

“Shit,” he muttered to no one, giving up on the laptop for the time being, shutting it down and closing it. He rose to his feet, heading for the closet but opening the left side rather than the right, determined to keep snooping. A set of metal crate shelves took up the space, damn near every section filled—shockingly enough. Parts of an old flatscreen computer sat on top, a couple old laptops below it. A drawer full of wires and cords was beneath that, then blank discs and a plastic box full of flashdrives. There was no way he could go through all of those, not without access to a laptop.

He glanced over at Derek's, considering it for a moment before deciding it was a terrible idea. If he couldn't hack into his twin's, there was no way he could do it to a stranger's, not to mention the fact that his scent would be left all over it.

Out of options and feeling too tired to function, he slid the closet doors over and grabbed a spare set of sheets before stripping the couch. He grimaced at the heavy scent of his come and slick all over it, embarrassment causing his face to heat up, tossing them in a pile to the side. The bed was remade in less than a minute and he gathered the dirty laundry and carried it out the room and to the laundry room. He may not be able to wash them that night, but he could at least put them in the right place.

And by right place, he clearly meant dumping them on the floor in the middle of the laundry room. He'd deal with it later. _Much_ later. Like way after a lotta sleep later.

He stepped back into the kitchen, only making it about a foot or two before stopping short when his eyes came across Derek pausing on the opposite side of the room, bundle of sheets in his own arms. Even in the dark, he could make out the ruffed up way his hair was sticking up from being quickly towel dried, the shine of still damp bare shoulders, the way the tips of his ears reddened as Stiles caught the scent of embarrassment that was slowly filling the air. And not just from himself.

The alpha cleared his throat, awkwardly shuffling his weight between his feet, hitching his bundle up higher as it started to sag. But other than that, he was frozen in place, a lot like the younger man, both too mortified to move or speak. Yet the air was thick with implications, with what they weren't saying but both knew. Both of them had experienced a Dream about the other, both had soiled their sheets and needed to wash them, both knew the other was their Mate but was refusing to actually say it out loud for reasons known and plentiful.

One of those reasons currently taking up space in the town morgue.

Stiles swallowed hard, scratching at a sideburn in a self-conscious manner, fidgeting in place just like the other man. What the fuck was he supposed to say here? He felt so very unprepared for this entire situation and so very fucking lost because of it. Damn near every story and every tale involving Mates had them falling together perfectly, completing the Bond almost immediately and having a Mating Ceremony soon after. Hell, even in books and movies where half of the fated pair was already in a relationship, things would be resolved, fixed in that perfect Hollywood way where someone stepped aside graciously, saying they couldn't get in the way of true love and destiny and while it broke the person's heart, they seemed to get over it rather quickly once they got with their Mate soon after.

But none of those stories told about finding a Mate who'd just lost their partner—who happened to be a family member—and refused to make a move on the newly discovered Mate or even acknowledge the connection out loud. What the hell was Stiles supposed to do in that situation? Should he call Derek out on it? Should he force the guy to sit down and talk about it, explain his distance and his leaving? Should he make a move himself?

_Could_ he even make a move? Was that even allowed? Or would it be disrespecting Stu's memory, just like going against their mother's suggestion of birthday movie marathons or having something other than eggplant parmesan on her birthday?

Frustration had his fingers balling into fists as his arms hung loose at his sides, leg shaking. He'd fantasized about his Mate for so long, how they'd meet, getting to know one another, the way they'd fall in love. Even in his wildest dreams he couldn't have imagined a scenario like the one he was finding himself in. And the worst part was the desire, the overwhelming and all-consuming want, _need_ to just rush over to Derek, throw those sheets aside, and hold him tight as he burrowed into the man as close as he could get. His mind started coming up with a million excuses, a million reasons for why he'd do it: seeking comfort in a time of need, feeling distraught and just wanting a hug, homesickness, an omega's tactile nature, the house being too cold and causing him to crave an alpha's warmth. And it wasn't like any of those reasons were lies or made up excuses for doing it; they just weren't the biggest reason of all.

He _wanted_ to, wanted _Derek_.

He wanted to feel those strong arms wrapped around him, wanted to feel that broad torso against his leaner one, wanted to feel the heat of his skin as it chased away the chill of his own. He wanted to be held close, cherished, protected, kept safe. He wanted to see if it would be like the Dreams—especially his most recent one—if all those emotions and sensations carried over to real life, if it would be better. He wanted to connect with his alpha in a physical way that went deeper than sex, was more intimate than lovemaking, meant more than procreating and being tied together.

But it wasn't gonna happen, not if the way Derek's arms seem to tighten around his bundle of sheets meant anything.

Focusing on his embarrassment was most likely Stiles' best bet at that moment. Maybe if he was mortified enough, he'd want nothing more than to run and hide in his temporary room and never look at the alpha again. Out of sight, out of mind, and _way_ easier to resist temptation that way.

Mate Dreams notwithstanding, of course.

Swallowing hard, he pointed at the laundry room with a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm gonna wash those tomorrow. Or some other point soon," he amended, not entirely sure what their plan for the day was and not wanting to make a promise he wouldn't follow through on.

Derek shrugged and shook his head, snapping out of his own stupor and into motion. "It's fine," he responded gruffly, making his way through the kitchen with the route on the opposite side of the island from Stiles.

' _It's very much not fucking fine,_ ' his mind argued, despite the fact that he was nodding, turning his body to keep the other man in his line of sight as he headed straight for the laundry room.

"I just," the omega started then stalled, gesturing to the other room as Derek disappeared into it. "I feel bad. Like a bad guest. I'm a bad guest." He waved his hand in that direction, even though no one was around to see the action, before placing both hands on his hips and grimacing at how ridiculous he sounded.

"It's really no big deal," Derek called through before stepping back into the kitchen. "Not like you did it on purpose, right?" He gave the younger man a pointed look, wordlessly telling him he knew _exactly_ what happened to the sheets and how it happened and why.

Which meant Derek had most definitely Dreamt along with him.

Which meant Derek had seen what Stiles had seen, knew what Stiles knew, and was still acting like there was no connection between them.

Asshole.

Stiles glared at the other man, folding his arms over his chest while he mentally shoved away the embarrassment of having been caught post-wet dream, choosing instead to focus on the anger and annoyance at the other man ignoring the obvious. "You would know, wouldn't you?" he spat out, eyebrow cocked in a challenge and in implication, nodding his head at the laundry room.

The tips of the alpha's ears got redder, a fresh wave of embarrassment hitting Stiles' nose, clearly understanding what had been inferred. He winced as he glanced about the room, eyes never settling, hand working the back of his neck. 

Until suddenly, something seemed to click in his head and he turned to the omega with a scowl on his face. "I don't have to explain myself or discuss any of this with you," he stated harshly, finger pointed at the younger man before he stalked forward, back the way he came.

Stiles moved quickly, blocking the exit at the end of the island, holding his hands out in front of himself. Derek stopped short, rearing back before any accidental contact was made, staring down at the other man's hands as though they were covered in flames with razors for fingers.

Okay, so his fingers were long, spindley things and his hands were kinda veiny and skinny and creepy—Stu's words...that Stiles didn't necessarily disagree with—but they weren't _that_ bad in order to cause _that_ kind of reaction.

Then again, considering what physical contact between un-Bonded or recently Bonded Mates caused, it was probably for the best that Derek be wary of them.

Didn't mean Stiles couldn't be hurt or offended by the alpha's reaction. 'Cause he was.

Shifting his attention back to the topic at hand, he focused on the other man's face, eyes narrowed and jaw taut. "No. Fuck you. You definitely have to discuss this with me and the fact that you keep running off is really dickheaded of you."

Surprise had Derek's head rearing back and his brows raising as his eyes widened. "Dickheaded?" he repeated, lips remaining parted, front two teeth in display that Stiles was trying so hard not to find adorable, forcing himself to solely focus on the scents of awe and disbelief rolling off the other male.

Apparently no one had called him out on his dickheadedness before.

Which wasn't all that much of a surprise, considering he was an alpha. And not just any alpha, but the son of the State Alpha and the head of the S-Dubs. He was probably more used to people kissing his ass, cowering in fear, rolling over and showing their belly practically without prompting.

Yeah, that shit wasn't happening with Stiles. He wasn't sure if it was due to a difference in cultures between Beacon Hills and Oak Creek, being raised believing alphas and omegas were on equal ground, or his own antagonistic and admittedly assholish personality, but he submitted to no one, kissed no ass, Mate or not.

Except for Lydia, but that was pure survival instincts there. He also tried to be on his best behavior around her mom, given the fact that she was County Alpha, but it was him and he fucked up. A lot.

"Yeah," he replied, dropping his hands and stepping closer. He met the other man right in his narrowed eyes, scowling just as hard back, voice firm. "Dickheaded. Because only a dickhead would bail after realizing who his Mate was and then refuse to acknowledge that fact, even when it's repeatedly shoved in his face," he fumed, standing so he was only an inch or so away from actually touching the other man. He could feel the body heat radiating off the alpha, causing his back to feel chillier in comparison, cold prickling the back of his neck. But he paid it no mind, too busy glaring at the man before him, meeting him dead in the eye and not giving a shit about propriety or social standards or the position of his dynamic. He was in the right in this and he wasn't backing down.

Derek's eyes flickered down to inspect the scant amount of space between them, yet made no move to back away. His fists were clenched at his sides, jaw taut as he clenched his teeth, every muscle in his body pulled tight. His every inhale was a hard drag, his entire frame rising and falling with it, bare chest coming so close to making contact with Stiles' cotton covered one. With every breath in, Stiles caught the scent of want, of need, of indecision and anxiety. The alpha was holding himself back, despite being a hairsbreadth away from the younger man, despite how easy it would be too take half a step forward and press their bodies together in the way they both so desperately wanted.

Green eyes locked onto his lips, a tongue darting out to wet his own as the light orbs grew half-lidded, adam's apple bobbing with a hard swallow. "I'm not discussing it," he began lowly, shaking, voice like gravel that caused a shiver to race up Stiles' spine. "Because it doesn't matter."

The words were like a stab in the heart and a kick to the nuts at the same time, causing Stiles to inhale sharply before staggering back a step. It didn't matter, their Mate connection didn't matter, their being Fated didn't matter, _he_ didn't matter. Because Derek had had Stu, had been in love with Stu, had Mated and Bitten and made a life with Stu. Stiles was an inconvenience, a nuisance, an annoying in-law he only put up with because it's what his late Mate would've wanted. The Dreams and their Mate connection were irrelevant to Derek because the alpha already had an omega he'd wanted to spend the rest of his life with and he was most likely gonna spend that time grieving the loss of him instead.

Stiles nodded dumbly as he processed all of it, still stepping back without being aware of moving. His body was cold all over but he wasn't sure if it was from the loss of Derek's body heat so close to him or the icy blast of rejection or both. He found himself absently murmuring out a "right", feeling stupid for ever thinking he had a shot. "'Cause you're you and I'm me and you had Stuart, you had the better twin. Why would you settle for me? Why would you wanna be with a second-rate piece of shit after having been with the best version?" A self-deprecating smile formed on his face, a humorless laugh escaping with it, and he started shaking his head in disbelief over ever thinking there was a chance Derek could want him.

The alpha grimaced and stepped closer, hand reaching out as though to touch, to grab hold, only it never came close. "Shit, Stiles, I—"

"No, it's cool, it's fine, I get it," he interrupted, waving his hands in front of himself in dismissal. He didn't need to hear it further explained, didn't need it confirmed out loud. His ego and his heart were bruised enough. The words actually being said would be a knock-out blow he wasn't sure he'd ever come back from.

"It doesn't matter," he went on, using the other man's words, barely noticing the way Derek winced at it and his scent shifted to something remorseful and guilty. " _I_ don't matter. You shouldn't waste your time on a cheap knock-off like me." Having said his piece, he turned to slink back into the office, hoping Lydia's offer to stay with her at Parrish's would still be there later on in the day.

"That's not what I meant," Derek insisted as he grabbed hold of Stiles' forearm as though trying to stop the omega from leaving, tugging to pull him back close again.

Only that didn't happen.

Stiles inhaled sharply, nearly choking on the sudden rush of air as it filled his lungs. The place where Derek held on to him was burning, and not just due to the alpha's higher temp. No, this was like touching a wet finger to an outlet, like lightning striking and electricity swirling through the contact. The hot buzzing spread throughout his skin like wildfire, igniting him all the way down to his core, jump-starting his heart to race double time like a defibrillator, freezing his lungs in his chest.

Arousal rushed through him so fast it made his head spin, hips jerking as his dick went from flaccid to hard in half a second at a speed he'd never known. Slick flooded his passage, hole twitching as it opened, body preparing itself for invasion without any orders from above.

Then again, maybe there had been.

A low rumble caused him to groan, head falling back and eyes drifting closed as the sound caused another wave of arousal to wash over him. He felt his cheeks heat up, his face flushing with it, his skin tingling all over in anticipation of a touch, a caress, a kiss, _something_. And all because of the too hot hand wrapped around his forearm.

Lifting his head, he looked at the alpha still holding him, the sight making his teeth sink into his bottom lip to hold back another groan. Derek's eyes were glowing bright scarlet, heavy lids at half-mast, pupils dilated for reasons beyond the dark of the kitchen. The red from his ears had spread to his cheeks, visible even through the dark whiskers, top lip quivering as that rumbling growl continued to emanate from him. His scent was pure sex, the rich spice of arousal, the heady musk of alpha, and a sharp note that screamed _mine_ at Stiles, that demanded he step closer and rub himself all over the other man until he was covered with it, until Derek was covered with him. He needed to mark, mate, be knotted, be _claimed_ as he claimed the older man right back and he didn't care where or how, just needed it to be soon.

Very soon.

His whiskey eyes drifted down, past a heaving chest, past taut abs, to a barely concealed bulge covered in black boxer-briefs. The head of his hard cock was pushing against the slit in them, trying desperately to escape, trying to find its way into something warm and wet and Stiles had no problem volunteering his body to be that very thing, whether his ass or his mouth, it didn't matter. He was pretty sure he was drooling at the thought of going down on Derek, of sucking that hard length into his mouth, tasting his alpha and feeling the weight of him on his tongue. He let out a whimper at the fantasy, stumbling closer to the other man, eyes still locked on his crotch.

Derek hauled him in all the way, Stiles crashing against his broad chest, gasping upon impact. Without giving him a chance to recover, the alpha gripped the back of his neck with his free hand and brought their lips together.

The kiss was a fierce, demanding thing that stoked the fire within him even higher. It wasn't the weird experimenting with Scott that left them more grossed out than pleased. It wasn't the uncomfortable fumbling with Heather as he tried to figure out what making out actually entailed. It wasn't the drunken awkwardness with Danny as Lydia's party turned into a nostalgic trip to Seven Minutes in Heaven. No, this was a _claim_ , this was a passionate promise of more to come, this was an alpha branding an omega as his and guaranteeing further marks as he staked his territory.

And fucking hell, if it wasn't getting Stiles going.

The grip on his forearm was released as hands moved to grip his hips, pulling him even closer to Derek. He let out a groan as pressure was applied to his hard cock, eyes rolling behind closed lids at the sensation of another being pressed against it. His arms wrapped themselves around the alpha's neck as he tried pushing their chests and torsos together more, relishing the heat from bare skin against his cotton covered one. He could feel the rumble as Derek's growls continued, their lips moving together as though they'd been kissing for years, despite never having made contact outside of Dreams. Not that it mattered. 'Cause this wasn't a Dream. It was real. He was really kissing his Mate.

The realization of that fact had Stiles hitching a leg up around his partner's ass, trying desperately to bring them closer together. His hips rocked in need and inexperience, sloppy motions that were still somehow effective in causing the friction he was craving, drawing gasps and moans out of both of them.

A swear gusted out against his lips before Derek kicked things up a notch, tongue practically shoving its way into Stiles' mouth. He eagerly met it with his own, the two wet muscles pressing and rolling together, tasting one another with hasty motions. The hands on his hips moved to cup his ass, squeezing his cheeks then releasing then squeezing again before grabbing a firm hold and hauling Stiles up. The omega wrapped his legs around a trim waist on instinct, knowing he was being moved by feel alone. It wasn't until he was set down on something hard and cold seeped through his flannel pants that he realized he'd been placed on the counter.

He pulled back to catch his breath, hands slipping to bare shoulders, chest heaving as he struggled to pull in air. Derek looked just as wrecked as he felt, panting through parted lips, eyes a steady bright crimson and Stiles just knew his own were glowing omega gold. He bit his bottom lip as he took in the disheveled man before him, wolf howling in joy at the knowledge that this was his, his Mate, his alpha, his all his. How the fuck did he manage to get so lucky?

An arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, the counter the perfect height for their groins to align. Derek gripped the back of his neck as he rubbed their noses together, a whimper leaving him, his hips bucking and making Stiles gasp.

"Need you," the alpha admitted under his breath, lips dragging along the younger man's in a tease. "Need you."

"Please," Stiles whispered back, heart soaring when their lips reconnected and Derek began grinding against him in a perfect rhythm.

He slid his fingers through dark hair, the locks cold between his digits from the chilly air and the water from Derek's shower. Hands dipped to his lower back, sliding under his shirt, up to his shoulder blades. The alpha's fingers were like red-hot pokers, leaving trails of scorched skin that branded Stiles as his, another claim on his omega.

Stiles groaned as he moved closed, hips rocking, trying desperately to get more friction on his aching cock. Slick had leaked out his hole, soaking through his pajama bottoms, and he had a half-second of worry that he was smearing it on the counter before his mind went blank with Derek grinding against him.

Reaching behind himself, he grabbed hold of one of the other man's arms, lowering it down his spine and maneuvering the hand into the back of his pants. He whined against the alpha's mouth, a wordless plea and a not so subtle hint as to what he needed.

Derek pulled his lips away, nodding as he panted against the younger man's mouth. His hand curved to the shape of his cheek, index finger tracing the line of his crack in a tease. "I got you," he promised, swallowing hard before dipping his fingers between his cheeks and rubbing the tip of the middle one against his twitching, open hole.

A gasp escaped Stiles at the sensation, at the knowledge that someone else was touching him there, at the electric shock he felt on such a sensitive place. His hips bucked on automatic, entire body jerking, hands flying to the other man's shoulders and trying desperately to get a grip on bare skin. A prolonged groan was pulled from him as that fingertip traced his rim, massaged it, but never pressed inside. His head fell to Derek's shoulder, hand slipping to his upper arm, fingers digging into his biceps as a shuddered breath left him. His entire body was shaking with want, with need, and he arched his back to try and cause that finger to slip inside, mind screaming at him to let the alpha fill him up.

A low whine hit his ears, Derek clutching him tighter, dragging his nose through his hair as he scented him. More slick left him, hole pulsing open to welcome him inside, his body stretched on its own just enough to let it happen. The feeling of the alpha gasping tickled his ear, nose trailing along the shell of it, behind it, burying in the side of his neck to scent him.

Stiles breathed out a swear, grasping the back of the other man's neck to hold it in place, wordlessly telling him it was okay. Derek whimpered, hips grinding in earnest now, breaths huffing out harshly against the sensitive skin of the omega's neck and causing goosebumps to break out all over, his skin tingling.

Acting on instinct, Stiles nuzzled his cheek against the alpha's neck, wolf rumbling in satisfaction and pleasure at the action. He figured it was a scent-marking thing, staking his own claim on his Mate, rubbing his scent on such a vulnerable place, making sure that anyone who was dumb enough to get close to that spot would know who they'd be dealing with.

Derek groaned throatily, his middle finger slipping inside to the first knuckle. Stiles keened as he was breached, pelvis pulling away on automatic before his more carnal instincts kicked in and he flexed back to pull more in. His head turned to the left, desperate to mark, instincts screaming at him to claim, tongue laving the area his teeth would sink in to.

Only for him to freeze all over.

Because Derek's skin wasn't smooth there, and not because of stubble or dryness or any other reason he'd be able to come up with if his head was clear and not foggy with lust. No, that was the unmistakeable rough bumps of scar tissue, of an injury just barely healed over, one that was slow to fix itself because of the intent behind it.

Lifting his head, Stiles peered at the flesh before him, eyes immediately drawn to what his tongue had just moved over: the Claiming Bite that Stu had left on his Mate, Derek.

Fuck.

He'd totally forgotten about his brother, about _everything_ , caught up in the whirlwind of arousal and lust and need and want. He'd completely forgotten that the man he'd been grinding against was taken, had been Claimed by another, belonged to someone else.

To his dead twin brother.

Seriously. Fuck.

The omega stared down at the Bite, swallowing hard. God, he was an asshole. He was an asshole, a dick, a shit brother who couldn't even save his twin's life but he had zero problems hopping into bed with his brother-in-law. Sure, Stu wasn't the nicest guy around or the best brother, had asshole tendencies just as much as Stiles, but he'd never go as far as Stiles had. And Stu deserved better, his memory deserved better than his Mate fooling around with his twin when he'd been dead less than twenty-four hours.

Jesus fucking Christ. How fucked up.

"Stop," he whispered thickly, licking his lips and swallowing hard, guilt and shame overwhelming him. This was wrong, so wrong, despite his instincts and his wolf insisting it was right and the only problem being that it stopped.

Derek froze as he sensed something was off, something bad had happened, lifting his head and meeting whiskey eyes with green ones. "What? What's wrong? What'd I do?" he asked, worry leaking into his voice and scent, eyes flicking back and forth between Stiles'. His belief that he'd been at fault caused the younger man's chest to further fracture, shame increasing, hating himself for allowing his alpha to believe he'd messed up.

But really, they were both at fault. Although Stiles had been the one to escalate things by putting the other man's hand down the back of his pants, but it wasn't like Derek said "no" or stopped him. No, they were both caught in the thrall and the rush of the Mate Bond sparking with that first physical touch, getting swept away by waves of lust and not even thinking about anything else.

But now that the fog was lifting some and Stiles could think a bit more clearly, he was realizing what exactly he'd done and who exactly he was hurting. Okay, so it wasn't like he could _hurt_ Stu with all this, but it still wasn't all that respectful to his brother or his relationship.

Now who was the dickheaded one?

He glanced at the Bite one last time before meeting Derek's eye, his own brow pulling into a worried frown. "Stu," he whispered, eyes ducking down, shame making him unable to keep up the contact any longer.

Derek inhaled sharply, body growing tense all over. His hand slipped out of Stiles' pants as he withdrew both physically and emotionally, stepping away from the omega, Stiles unwrapping his legs from around his waist. Smearing a hand down his face, Derek turned his head to his left, seeming to be staring at the photos on the mantle. "Fuck," he breathed out, roughing his face more harshly before putting his hands on his hips and staring at the floor between his bare feet. "That shouldn't have happened."

Stiles ducked his head in shame, nodding, swallowing hard. The comment was a punch to his ego but nonetheless true. They'd made a mistake, a big one, too caught up in the heat of the moment and screwing up royally.

"Yeah," he rasped out in agreement, fingers clutching the edge of the counter on either side of his still spread legs. He still felt shaky all over, body on edge and skin tingling from the arousal and adrenaline that continued being pumped all over by his rapidly beating heart.

He lifted his head to find Derek already watching him, brow pulled in an apologetic expression, eyes and lips turned down at the corners, scent full of remorse and regret. Green eyes looked him all over, hand moving in an aborted reach for him before he dropped it to his side.

"I'm sorry," the alpha apologized sincerely, voice gravelly and rough. With one final nod, he turned and stalked his way to his room, door shutting quietly behind himself.

Stiles remained where he was, staring down at his trembling hands as he held them above his lap, wondering what the fuck was wrong with him. Things just couldn't be easy for him. He had to constantly lose, constantly have things taken away while everyone around him practically had everything thrown at them. Wasn't enough that he'd been born an omega, no, he had to lose his mom, his twin, his Mate.

Fuck his life.

With a shaky sigh, he slid off the counter, awkwardly waddling to the guest bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face, trying to cool himself off despite the chill that had hit him the second Derek had pulled away. He roughly dried off with the hand towel, haphazardly hanging it on its designated ring before daring to look at himself in the mirror. His lips were red, swollen, kissed into a blur of sorts. His hair was a mess, but that could've been attributed to sleep and not doing anything with it after his shower— _both_ showers, he mentally added. His cheeks were flushed, eyes half-lidded and glazed over, the side of his neck red with whisker-burn.

He looked fucked out without even having been fucked.

Lifting a trembling hand, he lightly traced his fingers over the stinging flesh on his neck, relishing the tingling he got as a result. His mind started buzzing, memories of Derek pressed against him, _inside_ him flashing through his mind with phantom sensations accompanying. His hole pulsed, still open, his cock still hard and twitching and he hated himself for still being turned on after remembering his brother and why he needed to put a stop to things.

But he couldn't help who his Mate was, just like he couldn't help his traitorous body from becoming aroused by him, and he was a fool for believing otherwise. The heart—and body and wolf—wanted what it wanted and the only thing he could do about it was remain steadfast in his refusal to give in.

Peering down his body, he caught sight of the erection tenting his flannel pants and felt the slick that had been smeared over his ass. There was no way he was falling asleep like that, not without some relief and a damn good clean-up job.

Shoving his pants down to his thighs, he took himself in his hand, using the minimal amount of precome that had leaked out to lube his motions as he stroked himself. He reached behind with his free hand, finger teasing at his hole and only pressing in to the first knuckle, just like Derek had done to him. Wasn't exactly the same, the alpha's fingers thicker, but it was enough so that when Stiles closed his eyes, he could easily imagine it was the other man touching him once more.

He let himself get lost in the memories, remembering what it was like to feel Derek's body heat radiating off him, his hard cock pressing against Stiles', his lips against his skin, his scent in the omega's nose. It only took a few quick strokes and a slight tug at his rim before he was snatching up a tissue from a box on the counter to catch his come, mouth falling open on a silent cry, body shuddering as he orgasmed.

The come down didn't take long, aided by the emptiness he felt inside and the unsatisfied whine of his wolf. God he was sick of coming alone, of not having someone else get him off. And the fact that the one person he wanted to make him come was just on the other side of the house was the shittiest part of it all, further adding to the loneliness he felt inside.

Stiles cleaned up quickly and efficiently, using the washcloth and soap from the shower and water from the sink. His pants were pretty much stained beyond use, just like his others, and he was forced to change into a pair of boxers and hope he wasn't too cold to sleep.

Curling up in clean sheets, he let out a sad sigh, feeling more numb than ever. The shower cutting on once more brought a smile to his face though, a mean sort of satisfaction washing over him at the realization that he wasn't the only one who was suffering.


	13. The Morning.

Stiles didn't fall back asleep. Not much of a surprise really. Insomnia tended to have its way with him on the best of nights, and the fact that he was sleeping in a bed that wasn't his own didn't fucking help, hence him taking his pillow everywhere with him.

Except the pillow only brought with it the comforting scents of home and not a way to get his brain to shut down.

Because it was still going, still buzzing, a thousand thoughts spinning through it like a hurricane, wreaking havoc on any peace he might've actually been able to find in the quiet of the late/early hour. He tried his best to ignore the recent events that had taken place in the kitchen and practically anything involving Derek, which proved harder than he thought, phantom touches still caressing his skin and the memories of his wrecked voice and alluring scent driving Stiles insane. So in order to not think about any of _that_ , he was forced to think about something else. And, of course, the only thing he could think about was his brother and what had happened to him.

His thoughts were a jumbled mess and he knew there was no sense in trying to get any rest so he eventually dragged himself out of bed—or rather, out of couch-bed—and began rooting around for something to write on. He'd kill for his glass board back home, the thin red electrical tape he used on it and the notes he already had stuck on there. But for the time being, he was fine with a legal pad he stumbled upon in Stu's desk and a very fucking handy multi-colored pen.

Sitting back on the bed, he wrote everything out using the secret language he and Stu had created, jotting down notes and thoughts. He wrote about observations he'd made, Laura's seeming suspicion of their relationship in that photo, Erica's statement about how they didn't seem like any other Mated pair she witnessed, his own dubiousness about the body language between the two men. He wrote about what Derek had told him regarding Stu's reasons for leaving Beacon Hills and coming to Oak Creek in the first place, the alpha stalking and threatening him. He wrote his suspicions regarding Derek himself, the email Stu had sent regarding Mates, the comments the alpha had made about omega equality and why Stiles still wasn't one-hundred percent sure Derek was the killer. And finally, he wrote about the pseudo-vision he'd had, making sure to jot down every single detail that he remembered, no matter how small, remembering from class how important eye witness testimony was. Facts were written in black, suspicious behavior in red, questions in blue, the pen with its many inks proving most useful.

Just sucked there was so much damn red and blue.

He read over the black, mainly staring at that damn email from his brother, the words having long since been memorized. " _Mates don't always mean happy ever after._ "

Staring at the closed door, he thought of the wolf sleeping on the other end of the house and hating how very fucking true those words felt.

Rubbing the heel of his palm between his pecs, he focused back on his notes, scribbling out more questions as he went. His frustration mounted as the night wore on and became morning, getting nowhere fast and knowing there was nothing he could do to change that. He'd already searched the office as much as he could and without knowing his brother's password, he couldn't check his laptop for any suspicious behavior or clues.

He glanced at Derek's closed Compaq, quirking an eyebrow. Cops always checked out the Mate first when someone was murdered, checked their browser history in case they'd recently visited sites about poisoning or Googled how to hide a dead body.

Not that Derek would've searched those things, given Stu's throat was slashed with claws and his body was just left in the woods. And considering the immediate events that led up to his murder, it seemed more a crime of convenience than some premeditated thing.

Checking the alpha's laptop was out then.

Assuming it was unlocked and Stiles could actually get away with touching it without leaving his scent everywhere. Which he couldn't.

Yeah, definitely out.

He repeatedly roughed his hands over his face, frustrated groan muffled by the action. He just needed _something_ , he thought as he stared down at what Parrish had told him about his brother, the way he'd been scrubbed down with a scent-neutralizing soap, how the guest bathroom of the house he was currently staying at just happened to have such a thing, how practically _every_ house had such a thing. All Stiles had was a bunch of circumstantial nothing and a gut feeling that he was missing something pretty fucking major.

Other than the killer's damn identity, of course.

It was a little after six when he heard sounds coming from the kitchen and he rose up on stiff legs to paddle over to the office-slash-guest room door, stretching cramped muscles out as he went. Slightly opening it, he focused his hearing across the house, hearing the tell-tale signs of cupboards opening and closing, water being poured into what was hoping a coffee machine of some sort. Figuring it was as good a sign as any, he headed over to his duffel and dressed in the same khakis as the day before, throwing on a plain white tee and topping it with a blue plaid flannel.

Derek was in the kitchen as predicted, Keurig machine rumbling in the background as he depressed the handles on the four-slice toaster. He peeked over at the sound of someone entering, the tips of his ears going red as he caught sight of who it was, quickly hiding himself inside the fridge. At least that's what Stiles figured he was doing, considering how far he was leaning inside of it, probably just reaching for the milk.

The omega took advantage of the lack of eye contact, his own whiskey orbs looking the older man up and down. His hair was already gelled into place and he was fully dressed for work, black tactical pants and button-down on, velcro name tag attached, utility belt on but devoid of any weapons, lethal or otherwise. A small smile tugged up the corner of Stiles' lips in amusement at the sight of the alpha in full uniform, but with only socks on his feet. Something about it was just so humorous and goofy looking and he honestly needed that moment of levity after the day and night he'd had.

Clearing his throat, he stepped further into the kitchen, making sure not to slip in his own socks on the hardwood floor. But when his eyes came across the counter he'd been placed upon the night before, he nearly did. He felt his face heat up in a mixture of arousal and embarrassment, the latter being the more dominant emotion in his mind and scent and he ducked his head as he made his way to the other side of the island, hoping it'd be a safe zone.

“There coffee?” he rasped out as he sank down onto a stool, shoving a hand in his hair.

Derek didn't say a damn word, staying in the fridge and pointing at the Keurig on the opposite end of the counter from him.

Stiles glared at it, hating how far away it was and how Jedi powers weren't a thing so he couldn't use the Force to make himself a cup. Total bullshit.

With a resigned sigh, he dragged himself up off the stool and over to the Keurig machine. Two mugs already sat on the counter next to it, one filled with the hot and yummy, a black “ _D_ ” in old English font decorating the white ceramic. Picking up the empty one, Stiles noted the way it matched the other, except with a “ _S_ ” on it.

As in “ _Stuart_ ”.

'Cause they were such a fucking Mated pair that they had fucking matching monogrammed mugs.

He narrowed his eyes at it, glaring like it was personally responsible for Stiles' Mate Claiming someone else and having this fucking wonderful domesticated life with him, with the nice house and the matching mugs and the his and his towels.

At least Stiles was assuming they had his and his towels. Just seemed like something they'd have to go with the rest of their little slice of domestic bliss.

His wolf snarled in his head, making its opinion on the whole thing pretty damn clear. It wasn't all that thrilled that someone else had what was rightfully theirs, _their_ Mate in every way but officially and legally. The Dreams proved it. The jolt they'd felt when they'd first locked eyes. The skyrocketing arousal upon first touch and the way Stiles actually felt like submitting to the alpha rather than telling him to go fuck himself—although he still felt like telling Derek that, but for entirely different reasons. Derek belonged to them in all technicality.

Yet for all intents and purposes—whatever those may be—he was Stuart's.

Just further proved his twin got all the good shit and the charmed life and Stiles was stuck with the rotten leftovers.

Something clenched inside his chest as he rubbed his thumb over the smooth ceramic of Stu's mug, lump forming in his throat. His brother may have had the nice house and the hot as sin Mate and the matching dishware, but Stiles was the one who was still alive. Something about that just felt very fucking wrong.

Swallowing hard, he put the mug under the spout of the Keurig and chose a cup of dark roast from the carousal next to the machine. He managed to figure out where to put it, the machine clicking, the screen telling him it was ready to brew. And then he froze, fingers hovering over the buttons for the cup size. Back home he and his dad had a more traditional coffee maker, one with filters and grinds and a giant carafe that always seemed to be emptied as soon as it was filled. Scott and Allison had an electric kettle and instant coffee. Lydia had a fancy Nescafe thing but refused to let Stiles touch it for fear he'd break it. Which, probably a good idea considering the fate of her last espresso machine.

“The middle button,” Derek finally spoke for the first time that morning, causing Stiles' head to snap over to him. The alpha was standing with his back to him, laying slices of bacon on the frying pan as it sat on the stove in the center of the island counter. Every inch of him was taut, jaw ticking where he was clenching it, veins pronounced along his arms where his muscles were tensed up. His lips were pulled into a grim line, brow hard, eyes narrowed, and if Stiles didn't know any better, he'd think the other man was getting ready to fight someone.

Then again, considering how he looked like he was trying to hold himself in place, maybe he really was fighting someone already. His own damn self.

“I'm assuming you take it how Stu did,” he went on, shrugging as he wiped his greasy fingers on a dishtowel. Which, unsanitary. “He seemed to like it half coffee, half milk, and that setting worked for him.”

Stiles just stared, gaping at the other man, a choked off laugh escaping him. “Stu liked his dark, no milk, tons of sugar.”

Derek's eyebrows raised in surprise, but he still didn't turn or even glance over at the younger man. He let out a non-committal “huh” as he closed the lid of the bacon tupperware, turning with his back still to Stiles as he returned to the fridge. “That's how I always made it for him,” he commented, shrugging again as he opened the door and ducked back inside.

The omega frowned in confusion at the open fridge door, noting a list of names and numbers on one sheet of paper, another with a grid that he soon realized was a calendar with their work schedules printed on it. He'd have to check that out at some point.

Turning back to the coffee maker, he stared at the “ _S_ ” mug under its spout and traced the letter with his eyes, a wistful smile tugging up the corner of his lips. The mug was so grown up, so adult, so unlike the Rebel Force one Stu had left behind or the Imperial one Stiles still drank out of—and would continued to drink out of, dammit. Scratching at his forehead, he hit the middle button as suggested, curious as to why Stu had suddenly seen the light and realized that coffee shouldn't taste like licking the inside of an old boot.

Derek stepped over, taking hold of his own mug, taking a large gulp before staring down at it without seeming to actually see it. The corner of his own lips pulled up, a barely there dimple forming under dark whiskers, one Stiles recognized from dozens of Dreams, one that caused his breath to catch in his throat at the sight of it in real life.

“I nearly bought an ' _M_ ' one,” the alpha confessed lowly, small hint of amusement. “After our Mating, Laura dragged us to a mall in another town, insisted we needed more than red solo cups and disposable plates for dishes. I found these mugs in some department store, thought they were pretty cool, were something an actual grown-up Mated pair should have. But instead of grabbing an ' _S_ ', I grabbed an ' _M_ '.” He let out a small chuckle at that, shaking his head as he lowered his mug onto the counter. “Never could explain it.”

Stiles stared wide eyed at his borrowed cup as the stream of coffee cut off with a hiss. His mind flashed to Lydia always having been drawn to her dad's old Marines mug and how Parrish was formerly in the armed forces, had to be in order to become an S-Dub. He thought of Danny seemingly knowing all the rules and positions in soccer despite hating the sport, only to fall in love with a guy who'd played the sport his whole life and was an enthusiastic fan. He thought of Scott always gravitating towards the Nerf bow and arrow set when they played as kids and Allison being a competitive archer. It was like their subconscious had been giving them hints about who their Mate was, their interests, ensuring commonalities between them.

And there was Derek, unknowingly confessing that he'd been drawn towards the first initial of Stiles' birthname.

“Mieczyslaw,” he choked out, causing the alpha to stop where he'd been stepping back towards the stove.

With a cocked eyebrow, Derek stared at him, confusion coloring his scent. “Excuse me?”

“My birth name. Mieczyslaw.” He turned to face the older man, sheepish grin on his face. “'Stiles' is a nickname, since no one can pronounce that monstrosity.”

“Mieczyslaw?”

“Okay, no one with the exception of you,” he amended, before seesawing his head and adding “And my dad. And my mom.”

Derek nodded, small smile on his face. “I like Stiles. Rolls off the tongue better.”

The omega immediately thought of tongues rolling on certain parts of his anatomy, cock twitching in his pants. “Sounds sexier to moan out in the heat of the moment, too,” he blurted out, a flash of Derek moaning it out during their Dream last night hitting him and causing his face to grow hotter.

Green eyes turned red, Derek immediately slamming them shut and turning away from Stiles as he rubbed at his eyelids. “Goddammit,” he muttered out, standing in front of the stove and grabbing hold of the edge of the counter.

A small wave of guilt hit Stiles and he turned away himself, reaching for a glass container full of sweetener packets and sliding it closer. Although really, why the hell should he feel bad? Okay, yeah, he pissed the guy off, but it wasn't like he'd done anything _wrong_ per se. They were Mates. They'd had Dreams about one another. They'd fooled around last night. Derek'd had his finger in Stiles' ass and their cocks had rubbed together and goddammit, he should be allowed to make inferences like that.

“So,” he began, pursing his lips as he counted out sweetener packets, listening to the sizzle as Derek flipped the bacon over. He tore them open and poured in the sugar substitute as he spoke. “We gonna talk about what happened last night?”

“Nothing to talk about,” the alpha grumbled, body tense all over once again.

Stiles slammed his hand on the counter, shaking his head as he let out a humorless laugh under his breath. Should've fucking seen that one coming and he felt like an idiot for thinking that maybe, since the door had been opened, Derek might actually at least be willing to stick his head inside. But no, he'd slammed it right back shut again, locking it up and throwing away the key.

Turning his head, Stiles glared at the side of the other man's, clenching his jaw and letting the aggravation he was feeling seep into his scent. It was typical douchebag alpha behavior. Guy didn't wanna talk about it, so he dismissed the whole thing, expecting the little omega to just go along with it. Well, fuck that! Stiles wasn't some pissant little bitch who would do anything and everything his alpha told him to, especially when he didn't agree with it, especially when it was something they seriously fucking needed to talk about. He refused to spend his time in Oak Creek circling around Derek, constantly questioning where he stood, wondering what exactly was so wrong with him that his fucking _Mate_ wouldn't even _talk_ to him. He had other, _way_ more important shit to think about and figure out.

His brother had been murdered and all he could think about was this asshole's behavior. And it was solely because the guy was...well, an asshole.

“Fuck you, Derek,” he stated, turning bodily towards him, crossing his arms over his chest. “You don't get to do that, you don't get to tell me there's nothing to talk about when there very fucking much is.” His voice was rising with each word, anger fueling it as he spat it all out, dropping his arms to point at the counter he'd been placed on last night. “You don't get to fool around with a guy and stick your tongue in his mouth and your finger in his ass and then not acknowledge that it happened or pretend that it meant nothing, especially not when it happened with your Mate, your _True_ Mate!” He ended it with a huff, refolding his arms and glaring at the other man, jaw working and leg shaking.

“And I told you that doesn't matter!” Derek snapped back at him, slamming the tongs on the counter before turning to face him. “Stiles, regardless of what exactly you and I are to one another, nothing like that—” He pointed to the same spot Stiles previously had then dropped his arm to his side. “Can ever happen again.”

Warning signs flashed in his head, a chill breaking out over his skin, his heart thudding in a hollow chest, all alerting him to the fact that he was encroaching on dangerous territory. There was a sick feeling in his stomach, a sense of dread and anxiety, mind preparing itself for an upcoming blow. Because it was gonna happen, his feelings were about to get hurt, and it wasn't gonna be pretty.

But he wasn't gonna back down. He had Derek talking about it—more or less—and he'd be a major dumbass to drop it and lose this opportunity.

Determination had him licking his lips, resolve had him balling his fists as they were tucked between his arms and his torso, and mentally, he knew he was about to get an emotional bitch slapping.

"Because I'm not Stu," he stated thickly, corners of his eyes pricking as his tear ducts got set to go to work.

Derek actually managed to look apologetic, eyes turning down at the sides, brow furrowing in a sorrowful way. "Yes," he answered lowly, heartbeat steady with the truth.

Stiles turned to stare out the side window, unable to keep looking at the alpha know that his deepest worries had been confirmed. Derek didn't want him because he wasn't Stu, wasn't as smart or skilled or attractive as Stu, wasn't as confident or put-together or mature as Stu.

Toaster Pastries versus Pop Tarts. Pop Tarts always win.

His self-esteem took a huge blow, insides feeling empty and devoid of anything important or of value. His wolf cradled its head in its paws as it whimpered, feeling its human counterpart's upset and reflecting it right back. Stu might've been dead, but he'd had a damn sweet life before it ended and it included the one guy Stiles had wanted more than anyone.

“Do you have any idea what people would say if you walked around smelling like me, or me smelling like you?” Derek asked, fixing Stiles with a hard look, his own arms folding over his chest.

The omega shifted his so he was holding himself together more than trying to look intimidating or determined. He still couldn't face the other man, leg shaking, bottom teeth scraping against his top lip to hold back tears. Because he wasn't about to prove stereotypes right, wasn't about to be the weak omega who couldn't handle rejection from an alpha and broke down like a baby. He was fine. He was okay. He was hurt like hell, but really, it wasn't the first time he'd been turned down or turned away and it wasn't likely to be the last.

Toaster Pastries.

Swallowing, he turned his head to the alpha but stared at the ground between his own sock covered feet, finding the grains in the dark wood incredibly fascinating. “They'd say I'm some needy omega slut who hopped into bed with the first alpha to show me any sign of comfort or politeness,” he muttered acidly, wanting nothing more than to punch every person who believed that in the face. Total. Bullshit.

Derek frowned, tilting his head to the side slightly. “Nooo,” he drew out the word. “No one here believes that about omegas.”

Stiles snorted, head bobbing with the action. If that was true then Oak Creek belonged in some black and white TV show from the fifties where every town was a small town and neighbors always smiled and waved and you had conversations with the mailman, the milkman, every delivery man. But even back then, omegas were always portrayed as the ones who stayed home and raised the kids, the ones who always said “now, dear” in that soft voice when they believed the bread-winning alpha was being too harsh on Junior for accidentally smashing Mr Johnson's window with a baseball.

The slutty omega stereotype came along in the sixties when the free love movement was happening and women were burning their bras, omegas taking charge of their sexuality in much the same way by spreading the love—and their legs—with friends and strangers alike, all out of wedlock. It led to a whole lot of pissed of alphas who weren't too pleased with their omega Mates having been with someone before them, that they'd been touched and marked and carnally claimed by someone else, that their property and territory had been encroached upon and tainted. For all the work omegas were doing and the statements they were making about equality of the dynamics and taking charge of their sexuality, it seemed like alphas were still stuck in the dark ages.

Not that much had changed there in recent times.

So really, it was hard to believe when Derek said that no one in Oak Creek shared the point of view of pretty much the rest of the world when it came to omegas and their behavior. Just wasn't possible.

The alpha scratched the back of his neck, grimace on his face before refolding his arms. “I was referring to the fact that it would seem as though I was replacing Stu with his twin brother, that you were just a filler to warm my bed and take his place as my Mate.”

Stiles' eyebrows shot up, eyes going wide. He honestly hadn't thought of that. Or had he? He'd definitely repeatedly mentally mused over the fact that he was second best when compared to Stu and that being with Stiles would be like settling for the consolation prize.

Okay, so he _had_ thought of that. He just hadn't realized that Derek had thought of it, too, or that the entire town would believe it.

Then again, considering the gossip that swirled around his family back in Beacon Hills, it shouldn't have been much of a shock that Oak Creek wouldn't be different, that people would fall victim to jumping to terrible conclusions and making horrible assumptions regarding something they knew nothing about. It was what people did, especially in a small town where not much happened and the only real entertainment one could get was through spreading rumors. Oak Creek being significantly smaller and lacking anything to actually _do_ just meant that gossip was it as far as a pastime.

But still, it stung deep inside to realize that people were already aware that Stiles was the cheap knock-off you settled for when you couldn't get the real thing, all without even knowing Stiles himself.

“Right,” he muttered, wringing the back of his neck and staring at the floor as though he could open it up with his mind and make it swallow him whole. Maybe a sarlaac pit would open up under his feet. Being digested for a thousand years sounded _way_ better than the blows his barely there self-esteem was currently suffering. “Because I'm the cheap knock-off and Stu's the better twin in every way, shape, and form.”

He was being hard on himself, but it couldn't be helped. Old habits he figured. And he knew if his dad was there, he'd say both his kids were brilliant and special in their own ways. Lydia would smack him upside the head and call him an “idiot” while rolling her eyes and making him feel bad for dogging himself. Scott would be genuinely upset that Stiles couldn't see how awesome he was and start listing the reasons why. Allison would smile and rub his arm and tell him he had a lot of good qualities Stu didn't have, adding on to Scott's list. Danny would pretend he hadn't heard. Jackson would agree with Stiles. Melissa would give him a stern talking to and a hug.

But no matter what anyone did or said to try and change his mind—Danny and Jackson obviously not included—he knew the truth when it smacked him in the face. And the truth was that Stu was better, had it better, deserved better.

He heard the scrape of the frying pan being moved to another ring, the padded footsteps of socks on hardwood, before black cotton covered toes entered his eye line. A single finger cupped his chin and he shivered, the contact like an electrical current on his skin. His head was tilted up until he met serious green eyes, Derek's brow pulled in determination, scent agitated, upset, caring, protective, confused. All of it led to a puzzled Stiles, who just stared right back at him with a curious frown.

“As far as I'm concerned,” Derek began, voice firm but low, brokering no argument, his hand moving so that it was cupping Stiles' cheek. “Stuart was a cheap knock-off of you. I settled for _him_. And if it weren't for the entire town believing that he and I were fated and True Mates, I'd proudly show you off to everyone and do all that annoying obnoxious PDA bullshit I'm constantly being subjected to at work.”

Stiles' skin tingled all over, heart racing inside his chest, body warming at those words. It was strangely the sweetest thing anyone had ever said and he got lost in the fantasy of doing just what Derek described: walking around town holding hands and smiling wide, oblivious to the world around them; doors being held open on date night with shared milkshakes as they fed one another bites from their own plates; showing up late with rumpled clothes and messy hair, new hickeys adorning both their necks and people giving them knowing smirks; being caught in various states of undress and in compromising positions by damn near everyone; making people gag and roll their eyes when they spoke of or to one another. He wanted it, wanted all of it, wanted it with such a passion it damn near ached. He felt cold inside, empty, hollow, like a huge vital piece of him was missing. And it wasn't just the missing twin or feeling like half his soul was gone; it was all the cliché bullshit everyone always told him about finding one's Mate, how you never really realized how incomplete you were until you found the missing piece.

Stiles had found his. Only it had been trying to finish another puzzle.

He leaned in to the hand on his cheek, peering up at his alpha through his eyelashes, eyes pleading with him. “Why can't we?” he asked quietly, a small whine in his words that he ignored. “We can just tell the truth, tell everyone what really happened. It'll be easy, people will understand, it'll be okay.”

Derek let out a whimper, features screwing up into an expression of pain and heartache, something Stiles figured would be reserved for being told that your Mate had been killed. Eyes shut tight, the alpha leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, breathing deeply as his hand slipped around to cup the back of the younger man's neck. A slight tremor was racing through his body, Stiles feeling it through their two points of contact, his hands moving to grip onto Derek's sleeves, a finger slipping into a small pocket on one of them.

“We can't,” Derek breathed out like the words had been punched out of him, rasp in his voice that spoke more of sorrow and remorse than words could. “I can't. My family, they'd know I lied and I've lied to them too much. And I can't.” He paused, swallowing. “I can't be with you. You deserve better.”

Stiles opened his mouth to argue that it didn't get better than Derek, that he was his _Mate_ and therefore the ultimate in Stiles' eyes. But there was still so much he didn't know about Derek himself and his words would be empty and meaningless and potentially even a lie. He thought of Tracy once again, wondered if she ever thought that Donovan was the epitome of everything in her point of view, if she stayed with him because she knew that that was as good as it got because who could be better for her than her True Mate. But he was an abusive asshole who nearly tore her throat out and sent her to the hospital.

“ _Mates don't always mean happy ever after._ ”

His eyes closed and he swallowed hard, hating how fucking true those words were proving to be once more.

“I'm sorry, Stiles,” Derek whispered, his words breathed against Stiles' lips and the omega took a shaky inhale, body trembling all over at the knowledge that he was officially losing what he wanted but never fully ever had. “I'm so sorry, but we can't. No one can know. So we can't.”

Stiles nodded, friction burning between their rubbing foreheads, licking his lips then pressing them into a hard line. His brother's email kept repeating in his head, Stu's voice loud and clear as he reminded him over and over again that “ _Mates don't always mean happy ever after_ ”. Stuart hadn't gotten his fairy tale ending, and neither would Stiles.

It was with that thought in mind that a single tear finally broke through the barrier and rolled down his cheek.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Breakfast was silent, the food barely registering with Stiles as he ate on automatic. It wasn't that the bacon wasn't done right—crisped to perfection—or the eggs undercooked—fluffy and moist without being runny—or the toast burned—perfectly browned multi-grain bread that Stiles loved and his dad tolerated because it prevented arguments between the two of them—he just couldn't taste anything. He was numb all over once more, his appetite dead. He ate solely because he was supposed to, because he'd skipped dinner and Lydia's voice was screaming at him in his head like she had in real life so many times after Stu's initial disappearance. Chances were he'd be seeing her at some point during the day and despite the recent loss he'd suffered, she wasn't gonna tolerate him missing two meals in a row and/or him lying to her about it.

He and Derek cleaned up together, the pan scrubbed, dishes rinsed and put in the washer, napkins trashed and counters wiped down. They both made a second cup of coffee, standing up as they drank in the continued silence, only the refrigerator's whirring and the AC's hum making any sounds.

After checking the time on the microwave, Derek smeared a hand down his face and stared down at his coffee, swirling it around in his mug. “I gotta go to work,” he muttered, leaning back against the sink, free arm folded over his torso.

Stiles nodded absently from his spot across from him, lips twisting in thought, brow pulled. He'd honestly kind of forgotten that Derek had a job to go to, that he'd be stuck in the house by himself all day. He had no clue what Lydia was gonna get up to or where she was even staying, except for the non-specific fact of “at Jordan's”, so he wasn't sure if he'd be able to just hang out with her. He could always shoot her a text and find out.

He needed to text her anyway. Shit, he'd promised. Fuck it, he'd do it when his coffee was done. Caffeine first, technology second. Even Stuart had agreed with that sentiment.

The thought of his brother switched his train of thought to his own personal mission to find his killer, registering the fact that Derek being at work gave him ample snooping time. But he'd already searched through the office-slash-guest room and he knew there was no way he could mess around in Derek's room, not with an alpha nose being able to easily pick his Mate's scent out. But he couldn't just sit around all day bored out of his mind and hoping a clue would just magically fall onto his lap. He had to actually _do_ something in order to find the right trail—if any even existed.

Peering at the other man, he took note of his all black tactical uniform, remembering what Erica had said about S-Dubs essentially being Oak Creek's version of law enforcement. An idea sparked in his mind and he put a wondering expression on his face, hoping to just seem a little bit curious so as to not arouse any suspicions.

“You investigating Stu's death?” he asked, hating that he didn't have to fake the heavy emotions in his voice or the lump in his throat.

Derek nodded as he put his cup to his lips, scent turning sad and guilty once more. “Yeah. I gotta stop by the ME's office, see if he's got anything new.”

Stiles drummed his fingers on the outside of the mug, chewing his bottom lip as he pretended to think things over. Tagging along would give him a better chance of gaining some info for himself, a surefire way to gather evidence without having to pester someone and raise questions about why he was sticking his snout where it didn't belong.

Putting his mug on the island counter, he scratched at his forehead with one finger, wincing slightly. His heart was pounding in his chest as he fully realized what he was about to ask, where he was hoping to go. Visiting the medical examiner meant seeing Stuart's dead body, meant seeing the wounds that'd been inflicted upon him, meant seeing his brother as a torn open and mutilated corpse. Fuck, his stomach was rolling just thinking about it, hands clammy and skin too tight. But it needed to be done, would be done. Stiles could and would do this, for Stu.

Resolved in his choice, he wrapped his arms around himself, fingers tangling in blue plaid to ground him and keep him steady. “Mind if I come with?” he rasped out, swallowing unsuccessfully against the lump in his throat that seemed a permanent fixture at that point. “I just.” He paused, taking a shaky breath as he tried to figure it out, figure out why he'd want to see his brother. Because it was more than just clue gathering, more than just snooping or searching. It was...

It would be making it real.

“I need the closure in a sense,” he admitted lowly, wrapping his arms tighter. “I need for it to be totally real.”

And it was the truth, his steady heartbeat saying as much. Yes, he felt it when his brother had died, had seen it through some pseudo-vision, had been told it by someone who knew Stuart. But there was still some small part of him that wasn't entirely sure, a still lingering doubt that was nagging at the back of his head. Maybe they'd gotten it wrong. Maybe he was misidentified. Maybe he wasn't entirely dead, just mostly dead, and they needed a pill from Miracle Max to bring him back to life.

Maybe he needed to face fucking reality and realize this wasn't the _Princess Bride_ and there was no such thing as miracles.

But maybe that little doubtful voice was right and Stuart wasn't dead and...

He just needed to _see_.

Derek seemed to understand, judging by the solemn nod he gave and the way his scent grew more melancholic and understanding. “Sure,” he murmured, drowning the rest of his coffee then pushing away from the counter. “I gotta grab my stuff. We'll leave in about five, all right?”

The younger man made a noise of assent, not watching the alpha leave as he finished his own coffee. He washed both the mugs and put them back in the cabinet before heading back to the office-slash-guest room. Snatching his phone up from where he'd left it on Stu's desk, he pulled up his message thread with Lydia and typed up a quick message.

' _Am alive. Heading to ME's with Derek. Need to see Stu._ '

He hesitated over the last part before hitting send. Lydia would get it. She was an only child, yeah, but she wasn't a bitch and was capable of feeling empathy for others.

His phone beeped with a reply as he gathered up his wallet, Lydia telling him she was heading to HQ with Parrish and would see him later, a second message popping up right when he finished reading the first.

' _I'm so very sorry, sweetie. Good luck._ '

A sad smile formed on his face, a quick ' _thx_ ' sent her way before he locked the device and slipped it in his pocket. He used the rest of his time to do something with his hair, settling for his usual haphazard method of styling, and giving himself a mental pep talk in the mirror. Not that he believed himself when he said it was okay and that he'd make it through this, because there was no fucking way. He was about to see his twin's corpse while standing with a Mate he couldn't have. He wasn't entirely sure shit got any worse than that.


	14. The Body.

Stiles had been in a morgue exactly once in his life. It was during one of his mom's extended hospital stays at Beacon Memorial when he'd been about six or seven and she was having one of her bad days, meaning he and Stu had been told to go play in the waiting room with Scott.

Except the waiting room was _boring_ when you were a little kid, too old for the baby toys and picture books, too young for the magazines. So they'd decided exploring the hospital was the answer.

Or rather, Stiles had decided, then convinced Scott who didn't wanna disobey his mom's orders to stay in the waiting room and not wander off. Stu had just shrugged and said he didn't care, picking at a loose thread of his jeans and refusing to make eye contact. Stiles had taken it as an agreement and had led the trio to the elevators, hitting one of the few buttons he could reach: the basement.

The sub-level was mostly closets full of extra supplies and they'd broken out in a lightsaber fight with spare brooms and mops, despite Scott having never seen _Star Wars_ —something Stiles still couldn't wrap his head around. No one came to bother them, no one told them to quiet down or put those back where they found them, no one told them to get back to their parents. They were free to roam around, their battle taking them inside a freezing cold room full of giant metal drawers, tile covering the walls and floor. " _Sweet Caroline_ " played from a nearby portable radio, a rotund man standing over a table as he sang along off-key, hips wagging back and forth in a poor excuse for a dance, back turned to the door.

Until he heard the raucous shouts of three young boys, Stiles being shoved into him by Stu in a cheap move that was definitely cheating.

The man turned with wide eyes, yelling at the three of them, wondering what they were doing there, where were their parents, how'd they even get in in the first place. Stiles barely heard any of it. His own giant eyes were fixated on what was on the table: a dead body with his torso cut open, innards on display, heart on a tray to the side and a lung in each of the man's hands.

He screamed bloody murder, dropping the mop he'd been playing with as he hightailed it out of there, his brother and best friend following soon after. It was the first dead body he'd seen in real life and he severely hoped like hell it would be the last.

He'd made it nearly a decade and a half before that wish was shot to smithereens.

Oak Creek General Hospital was located in the western part of town, eerily close to the Oak Creek Mausoleum and an assisted living community. It was smaller than Beacon Memorial, only three floors visible above ground compared to the six of BMH, but still boasted all the amenities and features of any other health care facility in the country.

Derek parked out front in the visitors lot, only two other cars there, and Stiles found himself hoping it was because there weren't a whole lotta patients currently residing inside rather than no one caring enough to visit. He could still remember the way his mom's face would light up when he and Stu visited, how she'd tell them it was the best part of her day to see her family, and he inwardly winced at the memories of other long-term patients who never had anyone besides doctors, nurses, and volunteer candy-stripers step into their room.

Passing by the admittance desk, Derek gave a head nod to the nurse manning the station, she returning it with a sad sympathetic smile, obviously having heard the news and sussing out why he'd be there. Her eyes flicked to Stiles as he trailed behind, going wide as her jaw dropped and her scent shifted from remorseful to surprised at the sight of him. He caught sight of her patting the pockets of her scrubs for a cell phone she wasn't suppose to have with her while on duty, most likely wanting to call someone and share what she'd just witnessed, before he disappeared into the stairwell with Derek.

The morgue at OCG was just like the one at BMH: sterile white tile on the walls and floor; wall of metal drawers to the left, only one of which had an identification card in the slot; steel table in the middle of the room matching the sinks and counter in the back. There was no " _Sweet Caroline_ " being played—thank god, 'cause Stiles had enough traumatizing flashbacks whenever he heard that song—but the frigid temps required for the sterile room caused him to still shiver. Wrapping his arms around himself, he rubbed the upper halves of them to warm himself up, cursing omega genetics that had him running cooler than alphas.

Side-eyeing Derek, he noted no shivering or goosebumps, despite his bare forearms. Stiles wrapped his flannel tighter around himself and cursed the alpha out in his mind.

Dr Fenris was the ME they were looking for—mainly 'cause he was the only one the town had—and was already waiting for them by a side counter, manila folder open in front of him. He was a wide built guy, stomach slightly bulging under his green scrubs, fluffy white hair receding at the front. A sympathetic smile was in his face, wizened brown eyes kind as he greeted them, brows briefly raising in surprise when he spotted Stiles halfway hiding behind Derek.

"Who's this?" he questioned, smile faltering, voice trying to be light and friendly, but still carrying the hint of disapproval at a civilian being in a restricted area.

"Stuart's twin, Stiles," Derek gruffly explained, stepping to the side to put the omega fully on display. "He wanted to see him."

Fenris glanced back and forth between the two of them before shrugging with a sigh. With Derek being the son of the most powerful Alpha in California, the doc knew there was no way he could deny such a request, not without serious repercussions and a good ass-chewing from Talia Hale herself.

Flipping the folder closed, the ME led them over to the wall of drawers, grabbing hold of the handle for the one that had a place card. Stiles caught sight of it, heart in his throat as he read the words " _Hale, Stuart_ ", wolf whimpering in his head for more than one reason. Fenris slid out the tray held within, revealing a sheet covered blob that vaguely resembled a person, and Stiles had to take a step back. His heart was pounding too loud, too fast, body trembling for reasons other than the cold, stomach twisting and turning and knotting and twisting some more. He wasn't ready, wasn't prepared. As much as he wanted to do it, as badly as he needed to see it and find out one-hundred percent without a doubt that his brother was gone, he just. Couldn't. Do it.

A large hand pressed between his shoulder blades, sparks shooting through him at the contact, the warm weight of it reassuring. Glancing to his left, he found Derek already looking at him, worry etched in every line of his face.

"Breathe," the alpha reminded him, alerting him to the fact that he was hyperventilating, every inhale shaky and erratic.

He swallowed hard as he nodded rapidly, rubbing at his arms as he turned back to the sheet covered form. It looked the right height for Stu's frame, Stiles having half an inch on him, something he was able to tease the older twin about, constantly pointing out how he was five-foot-eleven _and a half_. Stiles' shoulders had been broader, frame holding more muscle than Stu thanks to lacrosse and cross country and his twin's preference of sitting behind a computer of some form than getting exercise, leaving him lankier and skinnier. All these subtle little differences in their bodies, their faces, things that if someone looked closely enough, they'd use to distinguish between the two brothers.

To tell which one was laying on a slab in a morgue.

He sniffed, swallowed hard, licked his lips. His leg started shaking, thumb making its way to his mouth so he could chew on a hangnail, body still shaking despite the steadying presence of his Mate right beside him and a hand on his back.

"We ready?" Fenris questioned, using a tone that was trying to be understanding yet carried too much impatient in order to be genuine.

Derek glanced at Stiles, deferring to him with a quirk of an eyebrow, the omega catching sight of it out the corner of his eye. Exhaling long and shakily, he nodded, body tensing as he braced himself.

The ME nodded once, eyes more focused on the alpha in the room than the omega who was about to see his _dead twin_ , as he took hold of the sheet with both hands. With careful movements, he lifted it up and pulled it back, stopping just below the chin where he neatly folded it, hiding the body's neck.

Where the killer had slashed his throat with his claws.

Stiles was still breathing heavily, heart beating even faster. His skin was tingling in a bad way, bones almost aching with how he was holding himself together, and his stomach felt like it was gonna drop right out of him at any moment. He dragged his eyes up, forcing himself to look at the corpse's face, forcing himself to confirm everything, forcing himself...

"No. No, no, no, no, no," he repeated, shaking his head adamantly as he back away from the table, eyes locked on the dead body's face. It was almost exactly the same as the one that stared back at him from the mirror every day, slightly different shape, nose not quite as upturned, less moles. But fuck, the differences from when Stiles had last seen him. Glasses gone, hair longer and disheveled, skin an ashy gray and sunken in. Heavy bruises framed his eyes, a cut on his bottom lip, scratches on his left cheek, signs of a rough ending to a good life.

Derek turned to him, arms hanging by his sides, his name spoken in a low cautious question, as though saying it any louder would break it, would break _Stiles_. The omega spared him a glance, catching sight of heartbreak on his face and upset in his scent and _fuck_ , Stiles couldn't handle seeing or smelling it.

An eerie calm settled over him and he stepped over to his brother, peeling back the sheet despite Fenris' noise of objection, Derek's warning growl making the ME's protest die down. Three gouges ran across Stu's throat, skin practically shredded from the claws that alpha had used on him. His Claiming Bite had been ripped into as well, cleaner, like the killer was more in control of himself and knew what he was doing when he practically voided out Derek's claim on him. His eyes flashed gold as rage took hold inside, his wolf snarling at whoever had done that to his twin, vengeance swirling in his mind.

He folded the sheet back to where Fenris previously had it, hiding the mortal wounds from everyone's eyes. With great care, he ran his fingers through his brother's hair, brushing it back before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to his frozen skin, resting his forehead on his twin's.

Fuck, it was weird. He and Stu had always been the same temp, had always been chilly at the same time, both coming down with fevers together. But for the first time ever, his brother was colder than him, body chilled from lack of blood flow and lack of _living_.

Moving his head down, he rested his forehead on his twin's unmoving chest, arms holding him in a loose embrace. There was no air going in or out, no heartbeat, no scent, just the sterile non-smells of medical equipment used during the exam and that godawful scent-neutralizing soap. Nothing. All of it gone, all of _Stuart_ gone.

A shuddering breath left him as he struggled to rein in his emotions, refusing to cry in front of two alphas and further feed stereotypes about weak omegas. Hell, he wasn't entirely sure if he even _could_ cry. He'd numbed out again, mind blank of anything and everything that wasn't the repeating thought over how it was all true, how his brother really _was_ dead.

Derek stepped closer, maintaining a respectful distance of a couple inches, but still close enough for Stiles to feel the heat radiating off him, to know he was there for comfort should it be needed. "Find anything new?" he asked the ME, voice gruff and full of authority even at a lower volume.

Fenris' scent was full of uncertainty, clearing his throat and rocking on his heels. "You sure you wanna discuss this in front of _him_?" he questioned, the last word said with a mix of confusion and a slight hint of disdain, like he couldn't believe the S-Dub would even _consider_ talking about it with an omega around.

An icy wave of aggravation wafted from Derek, Stiles resisting the urge to bare his neck, remembering that it wasn't aimed at him. "Stiles has every right to know what happened to his brother," the alpha stated matter-of-factly, tone final. "Either he hears it right now or I tell him immediately after we're done with this conversation, but I'd rather him hear it straight from the source."

Stiles lifted himself up to check out the doc's reaction, taking note of the way his jaw was working in frustration, hands on his hips, head shaking in disagreement. With a resigned sigh, he headed across the room to the counter he'd been at when they first arrived, snatching up the folder and flipping it open.

Stiles sniffed against the cold, wrapping himself up in his flannel to fight off the shiver that threatened to break out over him. Derek sidled even closer, his own folded arms less than an inch away, and Stiles relished the heat radiating off him, shooting him a small grateful smile.

"Stuart Hale," Fenris read from the file as he made his way over, sneakers slightly squeaking along the tile. "Cause of death was sanguine asphyxiation, meaning he choked on his own blood when his throat was slashed open by what appears to be claws. No defensive wounds were found, though there are injuries consistent with someone tripping and falling, leading me to believe he was chased before he was killed."

Stiles inhaled sharply, body freezing all over, flashes of his pseudo-vision hitting him as he remembered the feeling of being stalked through the woods while he was running for his life. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Derek turn his head to him, eyebrow cocked in confusion and concern, but he ignored it, focusing on the ME who was now standing across the table from them.

"The body was moved and scrubbed down post-mortem, removing any trace evidence and scent," Fenris went on, eyes glued to the file he was still holding. "There were also signs of a sexual assault that appear—"

"Wait!" Stiles butted in, hands flying out in front of himself. Two sets of wide eyes flew to him, surprise an overwhelming scent in his nose, and he struggled to breathe past it, to breathe through the shock freezing his lungs and the panic gripping his chest. With a trembling hand, he pointed at Fenris, drawing his brow in a serious expression, licking his lips before speaking. "'Sexual assault'? You. You're saying my brother was, what? Was raped or something?"

Fenris glanced at Derek for a sign of what to do, getting a nod as an answer. With a sigh, he gave a slight nod of his own, scent remorseful. "I found injuries consistent with brutal sodomy, yes," he stated, then flipped his eyes down his paper. "There were tears in his passage, but no presence of blood which leads me to believe it was done after he was killed."

Nausea was a heavy presence on his stomach, making it roll and churn. He put a hand over his mouth as he swallowed back bile, his insides twisting and turning, everything feeling completely out of whack. Not only had his brother been killed, but he'd been raped. _After_ his murder. Jesus, shit just got more and more fucked up. Homicide, evidence tampering, discrimination, sexual assault, _necrophilia_.

He started hyperventilating, black spots swimming in his vision, chest too tight and not allowing his lungs to properly inflate. Staring down at his hands, he noticed the way they were shaking, the rest of him was trembling all over. A panic attack.

Stiles began stumbling backwards, vaguely aware of his name being called. But it sounded far away, so far away, muffled like Derek was in another part of the hospital, another wing, another floor. Everything was drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears, his heavy breathing, his thundering heartbeat.

He didn't stop until his back hit cold tile, still shaking all over, trembling hands hovering mid-air as he struggled to figure out what to do with them. His skin felt too tight, buzzing, tingling, and he seriously believed he'd shake right out of it.

"Stiles?" His name was gently called in front of him and he looked up, fighting through swimming vision to find Derek standing before him. Hands cupped his cheeks, the alpha bringing their eyes into contact, holding his stare. "I need you to breathe, okay? Just breathe with me."

Stiles shook his head adamantly, ducking it down and pressing his forehead to the older man's sternum. His hands clutched at either side of him, gripping hard at his ribs, fingers lining up with developed oblique muscles. He could feel Derek's every breath, the steady in and out of air, deep and rhythmic.

"That's it, breathe with me," Derek encouraged, hands smoothing up and down the omega's back. "In and out, in and out."

Stiles did as he suggested, fighting his uncooperative lungs, forcing them to breathe in when Derek did, exhaling along with him. Every inhale brought in the comforting scents of Derek, of alpha, of _Mate_ , relaxing every inch of him. He felt the tension crushing his chest loosen, his lungs expanding the way they should, the nausea subsiding.

Soon, his breathing was back to normal, heartbeat at a normal volume, body no longer feeling like it was gonna shake out of his skin. With one final long exhale, he raised his head, meeting concerned green eyes, a worried brow, lips pulled tight into a hard line.

"You gonna be okay?" the alpha asked lowly, hands rubbing Stiles' upper arms.

The younger man nodded, swallowing hard, extracting stiff fingers from where they'd tangled up in Derek's shirt. "Yeah," he rasped out, still feeling slightly shaky inside but knowing that was normal, that it would soon go away. "I'll be fine."

"Do you wanna wait outside while I finish up here?"

"No." He shook his head, sniffing, taking a step back only to remember he was against a wall. "I wanna hear the rest."

Derek looked unsure, lips twisted to show the disapproval that was coloring his scent. But rather than argue or insist that the weak omega go sit in the hallway, he simply nodded and stepped back, giving Stiles space. "If that's what you want," he agreed, heading back over to where Fenris was waiting by Stu's body.

Stiles stayed put, leaning back against the wall in support and roughing his hands over his face. He thought he could do this, could be strong enough to solve his brother's murder, but he was realizing how very fucking wrong he was. There was a reason why close friends and family members didn't investigate crimes or treat any medical ailments and he was finding out first hand why.

But he'd let strangers handle Stu's initial disappearance and they'd failed in that aspect. He wasn't gonna let that happen again. No, it was up to him to suck it up and deal with the bad, to help his brother after his own failures the past few years. He owed Stu that much.

Taking a deep breath to shore his courage, he focused on the conversation happening a few yards away, tuning in on what Fenris was saying.

"—a scant amount of semen found inside him that hadn't been completely washed away. The DNA matched that of saliva found on his neck where the killer tried to remove your Bite with his teeth."

Derek's head jerked up from where he was reading over the file. "So it's definitely one killer?" he double-checked, receiving a nod in response. "Anything else you can tell us?"

"He's not in the system so he hasn't served any jail time, and you're looking for an alpha."

Red eyes flashed in Stiles' mind and he shuddered, glad he already smelled uneasy and upset.

Derek thanked Fenris for everything, flipping the folder closed and carrying it with him as he strode over to Stiles. Holding the door open, he gestured for the omega to exit first before leading him to the stairwell.

"You sure you'll be okay?" Derek asked again once the door closed, peeking at the younger man.

Stiles nodded, licking his lips, mind going over the details of the pseudo-vision, how it seemed to match the ME's findings. Maybe there really was some truth behind twin psychic links. Everything he'd been told about Stu's murder certainly gave credit to it.

"Can we go to where he was found?" he questioned, watching his step as they entered the stairwell and began their ascent.

Derek peered back at him over his shoulder, eyebrow cocked in question, scent full of suspicion. "Any particular reason why?"

"Morbid curiosity," he answered easily. Not a lie, not really. "My dad's always saying I'm sticking my snout where it doesn't belong. And considering it's where my brother died—" he trailed off, shrugging a shoulder, swallowing hard. His brother truly _was_ dead, laying on a slab in the morgue. And if Stiles hadn't been sure before, he was now, after having seen undeniable proof.

The alpha narrowed his eyes slightly, still suspicious, not entirely buying it. Yet he still let out a resigned sigh and agreed to it as they stepped out onto the main floor of the hospital on their way back to Derek's Toyota.

The same nurse was still working reception, now joined by two others who'd gathered around in a gossiping circle of hushed whispers and aborted hand movements. The first nurse's eyes went wide and she gestured to the two passing men, the others trying to subtly peek at them.

At _Stiles_.

He shoved a hand through his hair as he mentally shoved aside any and all thoughts of how they were adding to the rumor mill, how far the gossip had spread, if word had gotten out that recently deceased Stuart Hale had an identical twin who was now in town hanging around with his brother's Mate, the State Alpha's son.

Nope, didn't care. At least he told himself he didn't as he followed Derek outside. Chances were the gossip was about the timing of his arrival and how suspect it was, rather than the sad irony that was the reality of his situation. He'd been victim to false chatter for practically his whole life and it seemed like it just followed him to Oak Creek like a bad smell.

With a sigh, he got in the SUV, pretending not to notice a scrubs-clad female pausing where she was heading to the door, mouth moving with an exaggerated "oh my god!"

"Wanna tell me what's wrong now?" Derek asked when he slipped behind the wheel, words carrying only a slight hint of exasperation.

Stiles shrugged, fingers fiddling together on his lap, head ducked as he stared down at them. "Just sick of gossip, is all," he admitted lowly.

A humorless snort left the older man as he pulled on his seat belt, Stiles copying him, keys sliding into the ignition. "I'd say you get use to it, but—" he trailed off, giving a shrug of his own.

"You really fucking don't."

Turning to him, Derek gave him a commiserating smile, one of only three people Stiles had ever met that truly understood life under a microscope. Another one was Lydia, the third had just been pulled out a drawer in a morgue.

"Yep," Derek sighed out and started the engine. "Only thing you can do is ignore it and remind yourself on a daily basis that all the people who are closest to you and that you actually care about know the truth. Fuck what everyone else thinks."

"And _do_ you know the truth?" Stiles asked, taking in Derek's profile as he pulled out the parking space. "About me?"

"I know enough to know you didn't kill your brother and you aren't trying to take his place."

Okay, not a thought that had ever crossed Stiles' mind ever, but chances were that would become a rumor, too. If it wasn't already.

"You only know that 'cause I'm not an alpha," he pointed out, referring to the last tidbit of info Fenris had given them.

"No," the other man argued. "I know that because my wolf actually trusts you after knowing you less than twenty-four hours and it takes a _long_ time for it to trust _anyone_. And after all the shit we've been through over the years, that's huge."

Stiles' heart began pounding in his chest for all the right reasons, stomach filling with butterflies, skin buzzing. His wolf was yipping excitedly in his head, bouncing around with its tail wagging, knowing how amazing it was to have their Mate's trust. And while part of Stiles wanted to return the sentiment, he knew he couldn't, not yet. Because as far as he was concerned, Derek wasn't entirely in the clear, wasn't scratched off a suspect list that so far, only consisted of him. But Stiles knew it was only because he didn't have any one else to put on there, didn't have another name to replace his, and he didn't want an empty list and zero ideas other than "an alpha".

If Derek was expecting the sentiment to be returned, he didn't act it, scent and features both neutral as he drove along the main road, in the direction of the entry gate. But he couldn't just let the admission stand, couldn't just ignore it or let it go unacknowledged in some way.

With a weak smile, he murmured the only thing he could think of: "thanks."

Derek shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly, more focused on the road than anything else, and Stiles took the opportunity to let the conversation drop. Settling down in his seat, he stared out the window at the blur of browns and greens, trees whizzing by them, and tried to clear his mind of everything.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek drove them past the inner-most gate and the S-Dubs' HQ, taking a left onto a unmarked dirt road half-hidden by trees and brush. Well, not really a dirt road so much as two lines of tracks created by countless tires driving over it. But no matter what, it was still the kind of road you only found if you knew it was there.

They drove for several miles before entering a clearing and Derek pulled off to the side, parking in an unmarked space. After killing the engine, the two of them got out, Stiles adjusting his tee and flannel around his waist as he peered around.

There was nothing overly special or remarkable about the space, or the forest itself, the same collection of trees as back in Beacon Hills. Yet something about it felt important—beside the fact that Derek had taken him there after requesting to see where his brother had been killed. Sniffing the air, he caught the scent of multiple wolves, several kinds of cars, leftover chemosignals of a sort of nervous excitement that usually accompanied a full moon. Clearly this was where everyone gathered to shift, countless wolves leaving their mark there, creating a perfect place to stalk and chase someone in a more sinister manner. All the scents would blur together, making it difficult to differentiate between them and tell who had been after Stu two nights ago.

Taking a deep breath, he rolled his shoulders and neck, bracing himself for what was coming. Then, without a word, he followed Derek into the copse of trees, hoping like hell he hadn't made a colossal mistake.

It was several miles of walking—or tripping, stumbling, and slipping in Stiles' case—before he caught his brother's scent. Anxiety made it stronger, made it cling to the trees and brush around them, allowing it to linger. Another mile or so past that and things started to look familiar, eyes coming across things he'd seen in that pseudo-vision, still recognizable despite the different lighting.

His steps grew slower as a heavy sense of dread washed over him, scanning his surroundings. And when they came across the ravine that Stu had slid down and the alpha had rolled down, he stopped completely, lump of worry in his throat.

Derek clearly sensed something was wrong, stopping as well and looking at the omega with a furrowed brow, lips parted and showing off front teeth that were longer than the rest. Because Derek wasn't just hotter than fucking Hades, but he was adorable as shit, too.

Bastard.

"What's wrong?"

It was on the tip of Stiles' tongue to tell him exactly what was wrong, how he was freaking out because he'd seen all of this before, because his brother had somehow managed to psychically link with him during his final moments and he'd pretty much been a witness to his murder, because he was getting closer to the exact place where Stu was killed and he wasn't sure if he could handle the smells of blood and death and strife mixed with his twin's natural scent. But he couldn't say any of that. Because Derek didn't know about the pseudo-vision nor would he ever, because he didn't wanna come across as some weakass omega who couldn't handle anything difficult or upsetting, because he didn't wanna give Derek any excuses for them to turn around and leave after Stiles had only halfway convinced him to come here.

So instead, he shrugged and shook his head, scratching at his forehead as he thought up a lie. "Just wondering how you guys were able to figure out where Stu had gone and then find him in all this forest." Not a total lie, and he mentally patted himself on the back for it.

The alpha bought it though, slowly nodding once before scratching the back of his neck with a finger and wincing slightly. "Live around a scent for two years, makes it easy to follow," he confessed, dropping his arms by his sides. "And given the amount of anxi—"

"Right, but how'd you know to come to the woods in the first place?" Stiles interrupted, rubbing at his arms.

"Stu sleepwalked," he stated matter-of-factly, sounding as though it was a common occurrence and nothing out the ordinary. Which, considering Stiles' own sleep habits, probably wasn't. "I followed the scent trail from our house to here."

The omega's brow furrowed, one arm folding over his torso as he pointed at the older man in confusion. "Wouldn't you have noticed he was gone when he got out of bed in the middle of the night?"

The tips of Derek's ears went red, scent ashamed, and he turned his head away, staring off in the distance. Something pricked at the back of Stiles' mind, another red flag, and his confused frown deepened as he waited for a response.

"Derek? What happened to my brother?" he asked when it was clear the guy just wasn't gonna say anything, not without prompting.

Turning back, Derek's face was apologetic, soulful green eyes pleading with the younger man, lips turned down at the corners. He motioned with his head to be followed before carefully making his way down the steep incline, Stiles huffing in annoyance before sliding down after him.

"I told you about Stu marathoning _Star Wars_ the day after his birthday, right?" Derek began once they reached the bottom, getting a nod in response. "He was up late watching them. I couldn't stay awake any longer and headed to bed about midnight. And honestly? It wasn't the first time I'd gone to bed alone."

Stiles stumbled, although he wasn't sure if it was due to the uneven ground or the other man's confession. He caught himself on a nearby tree, hands stinging where they scraped the bark, mouth hanging open. It was practically unheard of for Mates to sleep alone. Sure, some folks had sleep issues, insomnia, parasomnia, restless legs, flat out inability to shut off their brains and _rest_ but they still would try and go to bed with their Mate. In some instances, the Mate bond was strong enough to even cure some sleep ailments, the person feeding off the comfort, safety, and security of their Mate so close and relaxed beside them, bringing their wolf peace and allowing them to drift off.

And regardless of any sleeplessness or sleepwalking Stu might've been troubled by, it was still strange to hear about his Mate going to bed without him, rather than coaxing him to join or staying up in a show of solidarity, a "you can't sleep so I won't get any either" sorta thing.

Then again, he mentally mused further, staring at the back of Derek's head as they neared a creek, Derek and Stu weren't _really_ Mates, at least not fated True Mates. Maybe they were able to sleep alone because the compulsion to be together just wasn't there.

Sure, there was something to be said for the comfort of a warm body beside you. Stiles had experienced it himself having shared a bed with Scott during countless sleepovers, the alpha's heat pleasant under the covers and warming his naturally chilly omega self. But sometimes, a person just wanted the bed to themselves. Sleeping in the middle was a thing—one that Stiles was guilty of—as was sprawling out, blanket hogging. That was hard to do when someone was next to you in bed, most likely bitching at you the next morning over your terrible sleep habits.

Stu's insomnia and sleepwalking and rumored night-terrors didn't exactly make him a fun bedmate.

Yet there was one thing nagging at the back of his mind, an inconsistency raising more red flags and driving him nuts. "But Parrish said that you told them the two of you went to bed together," he pointed out, speeding up to walk in line with the other man.

Derek winced again, guilt coloring his scent. "I lied," he admitted, wringing the back of his neck. "But telling them that I'd gone to bed alone would raise too many questions and suspicions about our relationship. And about me."

Okay, that last part definitely wasn't what Stiles was expecting to hear. Not that he could be blamed for being caught off-guard like that—or the way his feet got tangled together as a result, arms flailing as he nearly fell on his face. Derek's own limbs flew out as if to catch him, holding them up even when it was clear Stiles wasn't gonna faceplant—at least not then.

He gave an embarrassed smile as he smoothed his shirts out, face heating up in mortification, clearing his throat awkwardly against the curious stare he was receiving. "Sorry, I just—" he trailed off, waving his hand in the air as though that would clear everything up.

"Wasn't expecting me to realize I was suspect number one?" Derek quipped, eyebrow cocked as he pulled his arms back.

Stiles' blush deepened, fingers drumming together in front of his chest, slight wince pulling at his lips. "Something like that," he mumbled.

A small amused smile formed on the alpha's face before he started walking again, the younger man keeping pace with him. "It used to be that everyone believed the Mate was the absolute last person to hurt or kill someone," he stated, ducking under a limb. "There was just no way, because hurting your Mate was like hurting yourself. You just can't live without them. But nowadays, they're the first one that gets implicated, especially when there's a lot of red flags or strange behavior being exhibited by the surviving Mate."

Stiles nodded, showing he understood, mind racing through all the red flags that had popped up for him due to Derek's behavior, his own suspicions aimed his brother-in-law's way. He also thought of Tracy, how only a decade ago, if she'd told anyone her Mate was the one abusing her, they'd all call her a liar. Now they automatically hauled Donovan in, noting his history of violence and his aggressive behavior, a recorded history of anger problems and failed psych exams. Really, it was any wonder that Donovan hadn't already been locked up on a more permanent basis years ago.

But that was Donovan and this was Derek and Stiles still wasn't sure where he fell on the innocent-guilty spectrum. Those red flags all made him seem suspicious, his attitude and behavior towards Stu more than a little curious, but that could've been chalked up to them being Mates in title only. It didn't mean the guy was abusive or violent. Stiles had been around him for hours and he hadn't seen any signs of aggression or anger.

Although that didn't really mean much. Serial killers lived double lives and people were often shocked to see the friendly neighbor from their local church confess to torturing and killing people for decades.

Not that they were talking about a serial killer.

At least Stiles hoped they weren't.

Fuck, he'd totally forgotten his original point.

"It was also why we thought maybe you had done it," Derek spoke up after a long moment, assuming Stiles wasn't gonna say anything. "You showed up the day we found his body and we knew nothing about you. Made you pretty suspicious."

"But killing your twin is like killing your Mate!" Stiles objected, arms flying about for emphasis. "It just—it takes away your soul, you're half a person, you—" He cut himself off at Derek's pointed look, the sight of Tracy and her injuries back in the forefront of his mind. "Never mind."

"I get it," the alpha stated honestly. "And for the record, I don't think you killed Stu."

It was another one of those things that Stiles wanted to give a "backatcha" to but couldn't. Because while his wolf believed in Derek's innocence and an overwhelming part of the omega was inclined to agree, there was still that small nagging part of him that had its doubts. And that small part was controlling everything. It had to really. It was the safest option for him, the way to guarantee staying alive, remaining vigilant and suspicious and being aware of everything around him. It helped him traverse his campus at night and was helping him now.

Granted being in the middle of the woods in a strange town with a man he didn't know but suspected of murder most likely wasn't going along with that safety thing.

Whoops. Too late now.

Silence descended over them once more, Derek again not expecting any reciprocation of his feelings or beliefs. It was strange as hell. Stiles had been beyond insistent when it came to the Mate thing, yet reluctant to trust him, while Derek was open with his belief in Stiles' being a good person yet not wanting to talk about what they were to one another. They were both on different wavelengths and it was no wonder there was such a sense of disconnect between them.

Stiles smeared a hand down his face, wondering if it was ever gonna get easier between them, only to stop that train of thought before it gathered too much steam. What was the point really? There was a slight chance Derek could be going to _jail_ for _murder_ and even if he wasn't, it wasn't like anything would or could happen between the two of them. The alpha had made it clear that it couldn't due to the entire town believing his True Mate had been Stu and even if he shoved all that aside, Stiles didn't live in Oak Creek. _Couldn't_ live in Oak Creek. He was all his dad had left and as sheriff of Beacon County—not to mention had lived in Beacon Hills his entire life—he wasn't about to relocate. Plus Stiles had school up in Palo Alto, friends and an entire life in Beacon Hills. He didn't wanna give all that up just for one guy, Mate or not.

His wolf's whimpers brought him back to the moment and he glanced around to see a familiar group of trees. To the right, he found the hollowed out trunk his brother had hid inside to send him that text, apologizing for running away two years prior. To the left, he found Derek standing in front of a thick oak, staring at the wood, face stoic. But his scent was full of guilt, remorse, sadness. 

The alpha's features screwed up, brow pulling into a hard frown, eyes turning down at the corners, jaw clenching, lips thinned out. His fingers curled up into fists, muscles tightening all over, scent turning anxious and full of despair. "I owe you an apology," he murmured, voice thick before he cleared it. "You and your brother both. But since he's not here anymore—" He trailed off and shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest, still staring at that tree.

Stiles scuffed his way off, kicking up wet leaves as he went. He shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunching up around his ears, feeling that depressingly familiar hollowness in his chest. With a frown of his own, he stood in front of the tree, getting a good look at it when he hadn't before. Because he'd been spun around too fast in the pseudo-vision, because it had been too dark, because his back had been slammed up against it before he was able to catch sight of his surroundings.

"I promised him that I'd protect him and take care of him and I didn't," Derek continued with a rasp, sniffing. "I failed both of you. I don't blame you if you hate me."

"I don't hate you," Stiles argued without hesitation, meaning every syllable. Because while he didn't fully know or trust Derek, he definitely didn't hate the guy. "I hate whoever killed my brother."

The alpha's scent turned to a righteous sort of anger, eyes narrowing. "You and me both," he growled, turning to the younger man. "I swear I'll find the guy and punish him for what he did."

Stiles nodded, reaching a hand out and laying it flat against the tree, the rough bark being one of the last things Stu had ever felt.

' _Not if I find him first_ ,' he thought to himself with a ferocious determination he'd never felt before. ' _I'm gonna rip that alpha's throat out. With my teeth._ '


	15. The Code.

Stiles wasn't entirely sure how long they stayed in that area of the woods, nor did he care. Derek didn't seem in too much of a rush to get anywhere, never told the omega to hurry it up or that they had to leave. He just let Stiles take his time, do whatever he wanted, standing off to the side without saying a word and keeping a stoic expression in his face. He never once questioned what they younger man was doing, why he was doing it, didn't judge. The only time his expression changed was a cock of the eyebrow when Stiles nestled himself inside the hollowed out tree, sniffing loud at the strong scent of his brother and the terror he was feeling in his final moments, and again when the omega leaned back against the tree they'd both been staring at, shuddering at the phantom memories of that pseudo-vision, that same bark digging into his back through his shirts.

Derek offered to take him to the creek where Stu had been found, but Stiles turned it down. He doubted he'd find anything there, just like he'd found nothing in the woods save for scents that would haunt him forever and an intense anger he wasn't sure he'd felt before. He didn't want to torture himself anymore than he had to.

Back within the town's inner-most walls, Derek drove them into the downtown area, parallel parking outside the diner. Stiles frowned in confusion before glancing at the clock in the dashboard, realizing it was nearly two o'clock. His stomach gave a grumble, protesting the lack of lunch, and Derek's head snapped over, concerned look on his face. Stiles simply gave a shrug and a sheepish grin. Wasn't like he had control over his stomach or the noises it made.

Exiting the vehicle, he glanced around, finding fewer people on the street than the evening before, meaning less stares aimed his direction. Granted there still _was_ a trio of teenage girls who stopped and pointed as they exited a boutique across the road, but he pointedly ignored then, ducking his head and wringing the back of his neck as he followed Derek inside the diner.

The place itself was small, homely in a way chain restaurants never were. The walls were wood paneling, framed black and white photos of the town and its people hanging in various places, an old " _Welcome to Oak Creek_ " sign fixed above the currently unoccupied hostess station. A sign told them to seat themselves and Derek led them to a wooden booth along the side wall, taking the seat that faced the door.

Stiles slid onto the bench opposite him, grabbing a menu from its place behind a napkin dispenser and condiment rack, laying it flat on the red and white checkered tablecloth before glancing around. The wall three booths behind him held windows that ran the entire length of it, giving a perfect view of the street and Derek's Toyota. Square tables with a chair tucked neatly underneath each side were scattered about the place, each one with the same tablecloth as the booths. Two teenage boys were the only other occupants, seated two booths behind Derek, the tan one grinning up at their waitress as the cocoa-skinned one palmed his face. 

The dark haired waitress was shaking her head, thick locks pulled back in a swishing ponytail, jaw clenched in annoyance. Stiles focused his hearing, listening with an amused grin as the boy tried in vain to find a free spot in her schedule, getting rejected every time.

Derek glanced up from his menu with a cocked eyebrow, peeking behind himself at Stiles' head nod, turning back with a shake of the head. "Daily occurrence," he murmured, eyes focused on his menu once more. "Liam trying everything he can to get Hayden to go out with him, completely undeterred by her constant rejections."

The amused grin stayed on Stiles' face as he heard the waitress—Hayden, he now knew her to be—let out an aggravated growl before stomping away, Liam yelling that he loved her as she disappeared through a swinging door. His friend shook his head as he laughed, leaning over to pat his shoulder.

"One day you'll take a hint, man."

"No way, Mase. That girl's my Mate, I just know it."

Derek snorted, drawing Stiles' attention back to their own table. "What?" the omega questioned, brow furrowed, corner of his lips still quirked up.

He shook his head, flipping his menu over to read the back, even though chances were he had it memorized already. "Just can't believe you're that amused by it," he muttered, scanning the sandwich options.

Stiles shrugged as he peered down at his own menu, wondering if he could even stomach food after the morning he'd had, tummy grumbling with its own opinion. "It reminded me of my best buddy Scott. He was convinced this girl named Allison was his Mate. They dated for a while before she turned sixteen and called it off, too worried to get too involved then find out Scott wasn't it for her. Kinda too late for that considering the six-month angst fest that followed."

Putting his menu back in place, Derek gave Stiles his undivided attention, watching him with an inquisitive look on his face. "Lemme guess," he began, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back in the booth, outstretched legs resting between Stiles' spread ones and crossing at the ankles. "They were still in love with each other, but denying it?"

"Oh, there was no denying it," Stiles argued, fingers drumming a made-up rhythm on top of the menu. "Allison just refused to give in to it while Scott constantly mooned over her and moped about, always declaring them Mates and saying he could be sure enough for the both of them."

"What happened between them?"

"They eloped right outta high school," Stiles explained with a grin, remembering the freak outs by Melissa McCall and Chris Argent both. "It wasn't that anyone disapproved or whatever, they just didn't wanna wait any longer. Lydia was pissed there wasn't a ceremony though, threw one together for them before we all left for college."

Derek slowly nodded, brow pulled into a frown as he stared unseeing at the tablecloth. "Guess he got lucky," he murmured gruffly, shifting in his seat.

"No," the omega argued, wolf rumbling in defense of his best friends. "Sometimes you just know."

"Not necessarily," he argued right back as he lifted his eyes and met the younger man's. "Sometimes it's just teenage hormones messing with your wolf's instincts."

Stiles glared, offended in Scott's behalf, fingers curling around the edge of his menu. Pretty cynical outlook really and it sounded a lot like something Stu would've said. But Derek had firsthand proof that Mates were real and should've been more of a believer.

Unless something had happened to give him that point of view.

He thought over the alpha's words, something clicking in his head. Leaning forward over the table, he fixed him with a curious stare, keeping his voice low as he spoke. "Who was it? The person you thought was your Mate?"

Derek inhaled sharply, body going stiff all over. He sat up straighter, pulling his legs back and tucking them under the chair and Stiles immediately missed the feel and the heat of them. The alpha glanced around the room, jaw working. Nothing was said for a long time, Stiles worried he'd hit a raw nerve and wasn't gonna get a response, until Derek finally opened his mouth and spoke.

"Paige," he answered gruffly, turning and staring down at the tablecloth. "We were in love when we were fifteen, convinced we were it for each other. And when I didn't have any Dreams after her death, I thought we were right and that my Mate had been killed."

Wolf whining, Stiles felt a small crack in his heart, though the reasoning wasn't all that clear. Maybe because it wasn't due to any one thing. Because he was sad that Derek had lost someone he cared about. Because Derek had so freely admitted that someone else had been—or could've possibly been—his Mate yet had been so reluctant to admit that about Stiles. Because Derek was still visibly upset about Paige's death.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Stiles fiddled with his fingers on top of the menu, wincing slightly before speaking. "How'd she die?" he asked cautiously, carefully, lowly, knowing what a delicate topic it was, knowing how much it stung to be on the other end of that question.

Derek looked Stiles right in the eye, features hard, scent a swirl of regret, loss, remorse, and anger. "The attack."

He didn't add on, didn't explain, didn't clarify which attack and who the attack was on. He didn't need to. Stiles immediately got it.

Stiles had no idea what to say to that, if there even _was_ anything he could say to that. He'd been on the receiving end of fuck knew how many condolences, referring to both his mom and his brother, and most of the time the sentiment came across as disingenuous, something said solely because it was socially required to be said. The last thing he wanted was to appear false in his sincere apology.

Scratching at his forehead, he couldn't help but wonder how different things would've been had Paige lived. Would Derek have stayed with her after they both turned sixteen and it was clear they weren't Mates? Would they have stayed together after he began Dreaming of Stiles? Would he still have Mated Stuart if she was still in his life?

He dropped his hand, realizing it didn't matter. All the what ifs in the world couldn't change anything, _wouldn't_ change anything. It was what it was and that was that. No use dwelling on it.

The door to the kitchen swung open, drawing his attention, Stiles watching as a petite Asian female appeared and came bounding over. Her black hair was in two braids, off-the-shoulder white shirt topped by a denim vest, black skirt flouncing around her thighs as she moved. Knee high white socks and black high top Converses completed the look, face make-up free, lips spread in a wide smile as she stopped at their booth, grinning down at Derek. Stiles stared up at her with a curious frown, trying to figure out why she looked so familiar, where he'd seen her before, coming up blank.

"Hey, Derek!" she greeted cheerfully before turning to Stiles, eyes going wide as she finally caught sight of him. Yup. Clearly knew Stu then. Her head snapped back to Derek, lips parted in surprise, struggling to form words.

"Kira, this is Stu's twin brother, Stiles," the alpha introduced, gesturing to his dining partner with an open palm.

Kira's head quickly flipped back to Stiles, uneasy smile forming on her face. "I'm so sorry. About your brother. He was a good guy. That's what they always say about someone who dies, isn't it? That they were a good person? But he really was and it's so awful what happened to him, he totally didn't deserve it, and I'm very sorry that he was taken from you. From both of you. It's really—"

"Kira!" Derek cut off her rambles, quirking an eyebrow in her direction.

The waitress jerked a little in surprise, wide eyes going to Derek again, before she let out an embarrassed laugh. "Sorry," she apologized, turning back to Stiles, sheepish smile on her face. "Sorry. How 'bout I just take your orders? The usual?" she asked, aiming the last question in Derek's direction.

"Yeah, thanks."

Stiles hid his smirk behind his hand, amused at how the other man had completely read over the menu despite having a "usual" order at the diner. Dork. "I'll have the cheeseburger, no tomato or pickles, with a side of fries and a coke with no ice," Stiles requested, putting the menu where he'd found it then turning back to find two surprised faces staring wide eyes at him. "What?"

"Nothing," Kira quickly answered, shaking her head a little too vehemently, uneasy smile on her face. "Just."

"That's Stu's order," Derek finished for her. "To a T."

Stiles' face fell, wolf whimpering in his head and chest feeling empty once again. He barely heard Kira as she muttered out that she'd be right back with their drinks before she slunk off into the kitchen, leaving the two men at the table alone.

"Stiles—"

"Stu loves pickles," Stiles cut off whatever Derek was about to say, the alpha clamping his mouth shut tight. " _Loved_ pickles. Whatever. I just." He paused, rubbing his forehead as he closed his eyes, lips twisting in thought. "Why would he not get them? And why was he drinking his coffee different?"

"Maybe he was trying to be you," Derek theorized. "Maybe he thought he'd be safer that way."

"Maybe," he murmured, dropping his hand and staring at the door Kira had disappeared behind. "Where do I know her from by the way? She looks familiar."

Derek followed his line of sight, shrugging before turning back. "I think she's in one of the photos in the office."

Fucking bingo.

The omega smacked his hands together and pointed at the other man. " _That's_ where. She's the one cuddling with that brunette chick."

A fond smile curved up the corner of Derek's lips, scent amused. "My cousin Malia," he explained before seesawing his head and leaning back, feet between Stiles' once more. "Although she feels more like another freaking sister. Her mom didn't want her and her dad, my uncle, he's not around much, more into traveling, so my mom raised her."

"That's pretty cool," the younger man commented with an impressed pout.

He shrugged and made a "meh" face, phone ringing in his pocket. "Meant I was outnumbered by females even more that I would've been," he quipped, sliding his phone out and answering it with a gruff "Hale".

" _Cap? It's Isaac. We need you to come to HQ. Something's up with the computers._ "

The S-Dub's face grew tight at the sound of his subordinate's frantic voice, straightening up in his seat. "We'll be right there," he declared before hanging up and sliding out the booth, Stiles quick to follow. "I'll send someone to pick up our food," he called out, voice aimed at the kitchen, a female who definitely wasn't Kira or Hayden replying with an "okay".

Without another word, the two men left the diner and got in the SUV, starting it up immediately. All the while Stiles wondered if they'd ever catch a break of any sort during his visit.

He felt like an idiot for even thinking that while already knowing the answer.

~*~*~*~*~*~

From the urgency of Isaac's phone call, Stiles was expecting complete and utter chaos when they entered HQ.

Not so much.

They entered through the back door, making a right and heading to a different hall than the one Stiles had been through the day before. They passed a door marked " _Captain D. Hale_ ", one marked " _Break Room_ ", stepping inside one marked " _Gate Communications_ ". 

The room itself was dark, the only real light source coming from a bank of monitors along the wall to the right, where ordinarily live feeds from security cameras would be playing. But instead, all that was displayed with a blue screen with " _SYSTEM OFFLINE_ " written in orange font, matching the screens on three computer monitors lining the desk in front of them. Stiles had an errant thought that the screens were showing Mets colors before shaking it off and taking in the rest of the room.

Isaac sat on a swivel chair in the middle, staring at the center computer screen, typing frantically into a prompt box, only to repeatedly get beeped at in error. Parrish was standing to his left, hands on the desk as he leaned over, feeding him ideas of what to try, while Lydia paced back and forth behind them, fingers steepled in front of her face. Her eyes immediately came across Stiles and Derek when she turned and she huffed out a "thank god" before marching over, heels clicking on the linoleum floor, oversized and clearly borrowed Marines zip-up hoodie swishing with every step, parting to reveal a plain white tank and denim miniskirt underneath.

"What the hell happened?" Derek demanded to know as he stepped further into the room, focused more on the screens and his employees than the female heading straight for him with fire in her green eyes.

"I-I-I-I don't know," Isaac stammered, head shaking as he held his hands palm up in a helpless gesture. His scent was laced with pure anxiety, so strong it was making Stiles' wolf freak out, and he found himself subconsciously stepping closer to Derek for comfort.

"I was just sitting here bored out of my mind," Isaac continued, voice still shaky, "and the screen said ' _two-thirteen, what's the password?_ ' and when I didn't type in the right thing, the monitors all went blank."

"Shit," Derek breathed out, striding over to his employee then leaning down and tapping on the keyboard. After several more error prompts, he straightened back up, muttering out more swears as he smeared a hand over his face. He peeked down at Isaac before turning to Parrish who had risen to his full height when his boss had. "Go get Whittemore. Surprised he isn't here already to be honest."

Parrish nodded once before marching out to fulfill his orders, exchanging a worried glance with Lydia on his way. Stiles watched him leave, wondering what the hell Jackson could do. Guy wasn't exactly computer knowledgeable. He had to have Danny set up his damn iTunes account.

"Stiles," Derek barked, causing the mentioned male to snap his head to him. "C'mere and take care of this."

The omega's eyes went wide and his brows shot up to his hairline as he pointed to himself, head slightly tipping forward. "Me? What the hell am I gonna do?"

" _Your_ twin set this up," Derek reminded, pointing at him with an accusatory finger that matched his tone. "You can figure out his damn password."

It was on the tip of his tongue to point out that he couldn't even get the password to his bro's personal computer so how the fuck was he supposed to get one for his work, but he shut his mouth with an audible click before uttering a word. No one was supposed to know about his late night snooping session, so admitting that was clearly a really fucking stupid idea. He puffed up his cheeks and blew out the air, tugging at his hair as he scuffed his way to the computers, knowing he didn't have much of a choice.

Derek gently rolled Isaac to the side as Stiles plopped down on a spare chair and moved in front of the screen. He flexed his fingers over the keyboard, staring at the screen and trying to figure out his brother's way of thinking, what password he would use for work.

But all he could think about was those Mets colors.

" _What if he's thinking and behaving like you instead?_ ," Lydia's voice rang in his head, a flashback to only two days before, when they realized Stu had fled to Oak Creek.

" _Maybe he was trying to be you,_ " Derek from only a few minutes before added on.

Wait.

He glanced up at the wall of screens, the royal blue backgrounds, the warm orange words. His twin had once gone on Stiles' locked laptop, commandeering it when he'd worn his own out and it'd finally given up on him, snarling at him that he needed to have less obvious passwords than his Mets themed ones.

Moving his hand so his fingers were over the number pad to the side, he typed without taking his eyes off the screen, watching the digits appear in the prompt box.

" _37-14-41-42_ "

He hit " _enter_ ", the computer binging with the accepted password.

Sneaky asshole.

"Am I the only one wondering what the hell those numbers mean?" Lydia snarked from over Stiles' left shoulder, gesturing to the screen with her left hand in a move so full of attitude and annoyance it was practically a middle finger.

"The retired jersey numbers of the New York Mets," Derek answered from above his other shoulder, sounding impressed as hell. "Casey Stengel, Gil Hodges, Tom Seaver, Jackie Robinson."

Stiles might've fallen in love at that moment.

A commotion broke out behind him, Isaac bursting out of his seat and flying over to whoever had just entered the room, Lydia turning to join him. But Stiles paid it no attention. He was too busy staring up at Derek in awe, wondering why the guy had to be so fucking perfect and so fucking not Stiles'. 'Cause it wasn't torturous enough that he was attractive as hell and liked _Star Wars_ , no, he also had to know facts about the Mets.

If he confessed to preferring Avengers over Justice League then Stiles was presenting right then and there, audience be damned.

Derek didn't return the affectionate stare—because it _was_ affectionate and definitely _not_ creepy—eyes still locked on the computer screen in front of the omega, frown forming before he nodded at it. "What the hell is _that_?"

It took Stiles a moment, mind still hung up on how arousing it was to hear a guy talk Mets and whether he could get away with laying a big sloppy kiss on him—most likely not, which was disappointing as fuck—but he finally turned to the screen, heart stopping in his chest at the new message being displayed, this time green letters on a black background.

" _Nodat shioat nodose hasave slengla pewah_ "

His jaw dropped at the sight of his and Stu's language, this time put on display. He'd known Stiles would show up, had known the computer would mess up. Hell, he'd probably created some code in the computer system so that everyday at 2:13, a password had to be entered, one only he and Stiles would know or figure out.

Stu had been one step ahead of them, all of them.

Fucking genius asshole.

"Stiles?" Derek prompted, peering down at him with an inquisitive frown. "Any clue what that says?"

Shaking his head rapidly, he licked his lips and cleared his throat, hoping his erratic heartbeat would be chalked up to the worry over the failing system and the pressure of having to fix it. "None," he lied, voice rough, reading the words over again and automatically translating them in his head.

" _This ship doesn't have lens flares._ "

He hit the " _K_ " then " _enter_ ", sighing in relief and slumping back in the chair when the message went away and the camera feeds reappeared on the TV screens. He glanced at all of them, seeing the inside and outside of each gate, the gate by Hale Road, the downtown area, random places along each wall with cameras that panned back and forth, covering every inch of them. He wondered how Stu made it to the middle ring, how someone had managed to follow him yet no one had seen it on the screen, no one had gone out there to help him. Surely they'd at least reviewed the tapes by now, had some idea of who it had been that had tracked his brother down and killed him.

"I know what you're thinking," Derek stating, leaning down with one hand braced in the desk, the other on the back of Stiles' chair, speaking lowly and directly into omega's ear. "And we've already got Whittemore reviewing every tape from every camera along the inner wall. If that bastard's there, we'll find him."

His heartbeat was steady, no blips, meaning he was telling the truth, a fact that comforted Stiles. The younger man nodded, lips pressed into a hard line as his leg bounced beneath the desk.

"What the hell is going on in here?"

Stiles jerked around in his seat with a flail, Derek turning with far more grace than he could ever dream of having. Following the sound of the female voice, he found Laura standing by the door, arms crossed and hip cocked out, brows raised in expectation. Her scent was a mixture of annoyed and puzzled, alpha power rolling off her so strongly it made Stiles want to bare his neck to her. Her outfit of a black blouse, dark blue skinny jeans, and black knee-high stiletto boots was a combination of casual, professional, and ass-kicking and it was no wonder everyone in the room was having a hard time maintaining eye contact with her.

Derek gave her a confused scowl as he stared right back at her, his own arms folding over his chest and putting impressive biceps on display. "What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "I'm in charge of the investigation of Stuart's death."

Surprise was a thick scent coming from Stiles' left, Derek's brows meeting his hairline. But no one else was shocked by the announcement, something that had the omega glancing around the room. Parrish and Lydia were only a couple feet away from her, Parrish with his hands on his belt buckle, Lydia with her own hip cocked out and her head tilted, analyzing the female before her. Isaac and Jackson were off in a corner, the former with his head buried in the latter's chest, Jackson rubbing his back and murmuring soothing words to him.

Which...

Huh.

Deciding that was something to snoop about later, he returned his attention to the two siblings currently squaring off, Derek yelling in disbelief over Laura declaring herself in charge when she wasn't even an S-Dub.

"As Acting Alpha, I'm—"

"Oh, Acting Alpha my ass," Derek cut her off snarkily, baring his teeth. "You made Acting Alpha by five minutes. _Five minutes_." He held up that number of fingers for emphasis before refolding his arms. "It could've just as easily been me."

Stiles glanced over at Lydia, who gave him a curious look right back. Okay, so he wasn't the only one who hadn't been aware that Derek and Laura were apparently _twins_. Good to know.

"Well, it wasn't you," Laura snipped at him, nose in the air. "So as _Acting Alpha_ , I'm in charge of the investigation given the fact that the captain of the Security Wolves is too emotionally invested and too close to the victim."

Derek snorted, head bobbing with the noise, eyes rolling so hard it had to have hurt. "And you're seriously gonna stand there telling me you're _not_ emotionally invested or too close?"

Laura shrugged a shoulder, blouse rustling with the motion. "Sure I am," she admitted nonchalantly. "But I have the ability to remain professional, level-headed, and objective. Can you honestly stand there and tell me you don't want to physically rip apart whoever did this?"

A muscle in Derek's jaw ticked from how hard he was clenching it, eyes narrowed to near slits from the strength of his glare. The agitation flooding his scent caused Stiles to have to step back, fighting not to bare his neck. Because it wasn't him that Derek was pissed at; it was Laura, it was the fact that she was right, it was the loss of position and power.

A huff was his only answer, head turning away, unable to stand looking at his sister—his _twin_ , Stiles mentally corrected.

Laura let out a sigh, rubbing at her forehead as she shook it. "Look, I don't wanna fight or piss you off. I just." She stopped, glancing about the room, focusing mainly on Stiles and Lydia. "I don't think we should be discussing S-Dub business in front of civilians."

Both Stiles and Derek opened their mouths to argue and both were preempted by Lydia.

Typical really.

"Yeah, no, I'm the daughter of a County Alpha. I'm not a civilian." She pursed her lips in a haughty fashion, shaking her head.

Laura looked her up and down before a saccharine smile formed on her face. "Your mom is Alpha of a county that isn't this one. You aren't an S-Dub, you aren't a Hale, and you're an alpha in dynamic only, therefore you're a civilian and not privy to this conversation."

Lydia glared at the other female, lips pursing further then opening to argue further, only to get cut off herself.

Shockingly by Stiles.

"Lyds. Just let it go," he pleaded, the heaviness of the day starting to hit him and putting him in no mood to deal with any arguments, regardless of whether or not he's part of it.

A soft sigh left her before she huffed out a "fine", lips still pursed in annoyance, heated green eyes telling him that if it weren't for his recent loss, she wouldn't be going along with what he was suggesting.

Also typical.

Derek smeared a hand over his face, the fight seeming to be gone from him, too. With an air of authority, he turned his focus away from his sister and towards one if his subordinates. "Parrish, take Stiles and Lydia to my office, then head down to the diner to get our order."

A frown formed on the face as he turned to his boss, arms dropping to his sides. "Sir? With all due respect, shouldn't Whittemore be the one to do the grunt work?"

"Whittemore's otherwise occupied."

Stiles peeked over at the alpha they were discussing, noting how he was still cuddled up with Isaac in the corner, more gentle than Stiles had ever seen him. Fucking weird. He was used to Jackson shoving him into lockers, whacking him with the door of his Porsche, calling him every obscene insult in the book, all because Stiles was an omega. Now he was curled around one, comforting him, careful and considerate.

Made him wonder what the fuck exactly had happened to Jackson over the past four years to change him so drastically.

Parrish huffed through his nose but nodded, giving a gentle smile to Lydia before glancing at Stiles and nodding his head towards the door. Their attention captured, he led them out, Laura glaring at Lydia, face softening as she mouthed an apology to Stiles. He gave her a weak smile back, honestly glad to be out of that room and the tension that was filling the air to near choking levels.

Derek's office was pretty standard: white cement block walls, metal desk, file cabinets along the back wall, a couple chairs for visitors. An old couch was along the wall with the door, low coffee table in front covered in scuffs and scratches and not much else. A chalkboard had been wheeled to the side, timeline of Stu's last day written on it, photos of the crime scene taped around it.

Stiles gravitated right to it, only able to stomach quick glances of each pic before he had to look away. Stu naked, facedown in a creek. Close ups of the slash on his throat, where his Claiming Bite had been torn into by fangs, dried blood where it had dripped out his mouth.

"You really think that's a good idea?" Lydia asked in her usual rasp once the door had shut behind them and Parrish had disappeared to fulfill the second part of his orders.

"No," Stiles answered honestly, voice rough. Yet he didn't move, scanning the timeline, fighting the urge to correct where it said Stu had gone to bed with Derek that night, to put the exact time of his death.

He gave up when it was clear there was nothing new there, turning away to find Lydia seated on the couch, legs crossed primly, high heel dangling off her toes as she moved her leg up and down. With nothing else to do but wait, he stepped around the table and joined her, flopping down on the opposite end. He slouched in the corner, arm laying across the back, legs spread as far as his khakis would allow, fingers of his left hand rubbing at his closed eyes.

"Should I bother asking how your day's been, or should I just take your scent as a 'nuff said'?" she quipped, tone a mix of snark and concern that only she could pull off.

He snorted, dropping his hand to wave in dismissal. "Think it goes without saying."

A sympathetic smile formed on her face, putting dimples on display. Funny how the sight of them used to make his heart pound and stomach fill with butterflies, but now just brought him comfort and a different sort of joy.

He had an absent thought that underneath dark whiskers, Derek had dimples of his own.

Peering down, Lydia began picking invisible lint off her skirt, shrugging a delicate shoulder hidden by heavy gray cotton. "Alright," she agreed easily. Too easily, putting Stiles and his wolf both on edge. "Then how about we discuss how and why you smell so much like Derek?"

He'd had every right to have been on edge.

His eyes went wide, eyebrows shooting up and lips parting. Thank fuck she wasn't looking at him, couldn't see the surprised expression on his face. The comment was pretty much out of nowhere, not to mention worrying as hell. Was it that obvious that he and Derek had gotten pretty hot and heavy in the kitchen? Was it that obvious that they'd been all over each other and that there'd been some serious scent-mingling because of it?

No. No way. There were tons of reasons why he'd have the alpha's scent on him. He pretty much always had a hint of Scott on him, Lydia, too, and he'd never fooled around with either of them. Carrying a note of Derek wasn't necessarily indicative of anything illicit happening.

Recovering, he rolled his eyes at her, pretending like he hadn't just internally freaked out over being busted acting inappropriately with his technical brother-in-law. "I spent the night at the guy's house using his sheets and sleeping on his couch bed," he pointed out. "'Course I smell like him."

Lydia worked her jaw as she stared him down, eyes narrowed to show how very fucking unamused she was and how very fucking much she saw through him. "It's more than that and you know it. It's too thick to just be transference of a stale scent leftover on rarely used fabric." She quirked an eyebrow at him, lips twisting to the side, looking him up and down. "How 'bout you try that again? And this time, maybe tell the truth."

Yeah, that wasn't gonna happen.

His left leg began bouncing up and down, teeth chewing on a thumbnail. His anxiety began to build, wolf whimpering as the human part of him struggled to think up a plausible reason why he'd smell so strongly of Derek without having to fess up to what happened the night before. But other than the frotting in the kitchen, there'd been pretty much zero physical contact between the two of them.

Wait.

Wringing the back of his neck, he winced at the memory, throat closing and heart pounding. "I, uh. Had a panic attack. At the ME's," he confessed, voice rough.

Lydia's eyes went wide, head leaning closer, hand flying to his knee in comfort, the appendage covered by the too long sleeve of her borrowed hoodie. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Yeah, I'm fine now," he honestly answered, weak smile playing on his lips. "Derek calmed me down, got me breathing. I just got overwhelmed by what the doc said, that was all."

She pressed her lips together, smearing her gloss, grimacing before parting them to speak. "Do you wanna ta—"

"He was raped," Stiles interrupted, barely giving her a chance to react to that bomb before dropping another. " _After_ he was killed."

She physically recoiled, pulling her hand back to wrap herself up in the hoodie. "Oh god," she breathed, hand moving to her mouth. "That's disgusting. I might actually be physically sick."

Stiles shifted positions so he was bent over his knees, fingers tangling together as they dangled between his spread legs. "Yeah," he rasped, staring at the way his fingers trembled. "I don't think Derek did it though."

"Stiles," she sighed his name in exasperation, burying her face in both her hands, disbelief flooding her scent.

"I know," he muttered, sniffing, scratching his forehead with a finger. "But he seemed genuinely surprised by the news the ME told us and everything he says just goes against the impression I got from the alpha in that pseudo-vision or whatever."

She shook her head as she rubbed at her temples, both feet flat on the floor, elbows on her knees. "Ever think you're just blinded by the Mate thing?" she asked lowly. "That maybe it's you _hoping_ he's innocent rather than actual having proof of it?"

"Constantly," he admitted, peering over his shoulder at her. "I'm not dumb or naïve enough to automatically trust him or believe he's innocent or anything, not without hard evidence. But everything is leaning towards him not being the guy."

Lydia's face scrunched up in annoyance, nostrils flaring. "He's staying at the top of the suspect list," she stated, pointing a finger at him, the effect diminished by the excess gray fabric covering her hand.

"He's second on the list," he bartered, fully capable of being just as stubborn as her.

She opened her mouth to argue, cut off by a knock on the door. She glared at Stiles, low growl coming from her throat, before telling whoever it was to enter in a falsely sweet voice.

Grateful for the distraction, Stiles turned his head to watch as the door open and Jackson slipped inside, shutting it behind himself. He sat up straighter on the couch, raising an eyebrow in question, curious as fuck as to what Jackson wanted with them.

Then again, Lydia was in the room.

But he didn't look at Lydia the way he used to back in high school. Gone was the adoration and awe of her beauty, gone was the sneers and stuck-up noses that had been way too frequent when they weren't together and constantly fighting. Lunches had been uncomfortable enough for Stiles, dragged over to the popular table by Scott, who was there with Allison, who was sitting by her best friend Lydia. Having to deal with the tension between two exes—two _alpha_ exes—made him and his wolf completely uneasy and he'd spend most of the hour on edge, ready to bare his neck at a moment's notice, instincts keeping him on high alert.

But this wasn't high school, this wasn't the snide looks and snippy remarks of before. Lydia had blossomed away from Jackson, no longer held back by any need to impress him or make him feel like the superior one in their relationship by dumbing herself down, no longer caring about her image or popularity, no longer worried about her status in the school.

And Jackson appeared as though he'd grown, too. That air of pompous asshole that had clouded around him sophomore year was gone. He no longer walked around acting cocky or entitled, believing things should just be handed to him solely because he was Jackson fucking Whittemore. Yeah, the confidence was still there with his every step, but it was different, more genuine than his previous attitude seemed to be. It was the kind of self-assurance that came from growing up and figuring out who you really were and what place you had in the world, and Stiles realized in that moment that the cocky swagger Jackson had had in high school was a false sort of bravado, a defense mechanism, a coat of armor to cover the chip on his shoulder left by news of his being adopted and the need to prove himself to two sets of parents, as well as himself.

He wondered if that was what Lydia had seen in the other alpha when they first started dating. Because Stiles was having a really hard time trying to correlate the Lydia he knew now—smart, sweet, caring, selfless, put herself at risk of jail time for her friends Lydia—with the one in high school who only cared about how others saw her, the image of perfection she carefully molded with make-up, hair products, her credit cards, and a championship winning boyfriend who was just as pretty as her. Sophomore Year Lydia would freak if she saw herself now, best friends with lowly little Stiles Stilinski—whom she hadn't even really been aware had existed—wearing a hoodie that was three sizes too big, only a hint of eyeliner and gloss on her face, hair hanging loose and unstyled about her shoulders. Yet for all the missing superficial armor of her own, Lydia had never seemed happier and Stiles had a feeling Parrish was only a small part of the equation.

Talk about character growth.

Focusing back on Jackson, it seemed like he'd taken a similar positive story arc. He was less dickheaded, more caring and considerate given the way he cautiously moved closer, gesturing to the table as though to ask if it was okay that he sit on it.

Asking _Stiles_ if it was okay.

That was definitely new.

The omega glanced at Lydia, getting a shrug and a look that said she wasn't sure what was up with that either. Okay, not helpful. Turning back to Jackson, he noted the blond's hesitation, the way he was pointing to the door as he leaned towards it.

"I can leave again if you want," he offered, shifting his focus between the twosome on the couch.

It was the gentle way he said it, the lack of ego or attitude that decided it for Stiles. He gestured to the table with his hand, telling him it was cool, he could sit, not a problem. Jackson gave him a small smile before sitting on the wooden piece of furniture, centering himself between the two friends on the settee.

"I just wanted to thank you for your help," the alpha told Stiles, completely genuine for the first time since... well, pretty much since Stiles met the guy. "If you hadn't gotten the system back online, Isaac would've spent the next year blaming himself and beating himself up about it."

Lydia tilted her head in curiosity, lips pursed in thought as she frowned at her ex. Stiles wore a similar look of confusion, resting his elbows on his knees once more.

"I thought Isaac said it just popped up automatically when it turned two-thirteen," he mused, wondering what exactly the truth was there. Knowing Stu, he was more inclined to believe a timer in the code than Isaac accidentally hitting something to cause the system to lock up the way it had.

"It did," Jackson quickly clarified, bending over his own knees. "Isaac, uh. He didn't have a good life growing up. His mom died giving birth to him and his dad blamed him for it and anything else bad that happened to them." His fingers curled into fists, blue eyes narrowing to angry slits, scent full of rage and something Stiles could only really describe as protectiveness. "Because of all that, Isaac tends to blame himself when shit goes wrong, even when it's not his fault. Took me months to convince him he's not a fuck-up, just like it took him months to convince me it's okay to have a male Mate."

"Well that's homophobic as fuck," Stiles blurted out, straightening up and sneering at the other man.

"That's not what I meant," Jackson insisted, hands held up in a placating manner, eyes wide and scent remorseful.

Stiles sat there stunned by it, unsure how to react or respond. For a decade, Jackson had picked on and bullied him, simply because he could, simply because he was an alpha and Stiles was a weak little omega. And not once did Jackson ever show a single hint of regret or apology, even when getting chastised by this teacher or that parent. Yet there he was, genuinely sorry that his words had been misinterpreted and taken as a slight against someone's sexuality, a sexuality that apparently he shared.

With a sigh, Jackson hung his head, hand running through his perfectly styled hair. "I spent my entire life being attracted to females, one in particular." He peeked up at that, giving Lydia a smirk as though sharing an inside joke.

She just shrugged a shoulder, wordlessly saying she didn't blame him for it, a small glimpse of old high school aged Lydia.

"So when I turned sixteen and starting having Dreams about a guy, I kinda freaked out."

Stiles thought back to sophomore year, to the cagey way the blond behaved, his erratic behavior, his more snappy than usual attitude. "That day you fell asleep in Econ then woke up freaking out," he realized, not needing to further explain.

Jackson nodded, sheepish grin on his face. "I had a Dream in class, yeah," he admitted with a grimace and the omega had to hold back a laugh at the thought of cool, calm, and collected Jackson fucking Whittemore having a sex dream in Coach Finstock's class. "I got really paranoid that people would know I'd Dreamed about a guy and that they'd judge me for it. I dunno." He sighed, smearing a hand down his face. "Looking back, it sounds really fucking dumb, but at the time it was fucking terrifying, having this huge sexuality crisis when I'd never ever thought of a guy in a sexual way like that."

Stiles nodded, thinking it sounded plausible. Not that he could relate really. Given their anatomy, male omegas tended to be bisexual, most ending up with male alphas—and on some occasions, male betas. Figuring out he was just as attracted to men as he was women hadn't been some sort of world shattering event the way it sounded like it had been for Jackson.

"Anyway, I had a hard time dealing with it and with trying to figure out who I was—again," Jackson went on, wringing the back of his neck before clasping his hands between his knees. "And I figured getting out of Beacon Hills would be a good idea. I moved to London, got my GED, then when I turned eighteen I moved here to Oak Creek. Couple months later, Stu moved here, too, and he helped me get this job."

Lydia nodded like the whole thing made perfect sense, but there was still one thing nagging at the back of his mind.

"Why was everyone so surprised that you knew us when you knew Stu?"

The grimace returned to Jackson's face and he turned away, swallowing as his scent turned remorseful once more. "Because no one knew we'd met before," he admitted lowly, fingers yanking together, head ducked as it faced forward again. "It was Stu's idea. He said he wanted a clean break from all things Beacon Hills and begged me not to tell anyone. He made it sound like it was life or death." Pausing, he turned his head to his right and the chalkboard, eyes flitting about as he looked at everything taped up. "Guess he was right."

That familiar ache returned to Stiles' chest and he swallowed hard at the reminder of his brother and his death. A soothing hand rubbed over his shoulder blades, Lydia comforting him, and he gave her a weak smile for it.

"I really am sorry, Stilinski," Jackson stated genuinely, subdued. "You gonna try and find the guy?"

"I'm working on it, yeah," he informed him, voice rough, thick, his own hand rubbing the back of his head and smoothing down his hair.

The alpha peered over at the door before scooting closer, ass barely on the edge of the table, knees against the couch holding him up. He leaned in more towards them, glancing back and forth between them both, before focusing on Stiles and speaking lowly. "The day of his death, I was in the comms room, that room with all the computers in it that guys were just in? I was watching the monitors as Stu fiddled with the system like he usually did. His phone rang about three or so and when he checked the ID, he went completely white, like he'd seen a ghost. His heartbeat was fast like he'd just run a marathon and he reeked of anxiety."

Stiles felt his stomach drop and his own heart go crazy, hands trembling where they dangled between his legs. "Who. Who was it?"

Jackson shrugged. "He said it was someone from back home and hit 'ignore' then dropped the subject completely." He took a deep breath, messing with his hair once more, then aimed a hand in Stiles' direction. "Look, I have no clue why Stu left or what the hell he was doing in Oak Creek, but I figured it must've been something bad in order for him to just—" He slashed a hand in front of himself for emphasis. "Totally cut himself off from everyone like that. I just thought he got into it with your old man and ran away, had to hide from the fucking _sheriff_. If I'd've known it was _that_ serious," he pointed at the board, "I'd've told him to talk to Derek or Alpha Hale or _someone_ about that phone call."

The corner of Stiles' lips turned up in a vague semblance of a smile. "Thanks, man," he stated, mentally noting how weird it was to thank Jackson without it being full of sarcasm. "You tell anyone else about that call?"

He shook his head. "Didn't get a chance to yesterday with the Big Guy at the crime scene then you guys showing up and now he's too pissed at me to want anything to do with me except bark orders. Laura's all right, but she's no investigator and Parrish is too self-righteous to listen to me after I lied. No offense," he aimed the last part at Lydia, who waved him off, then turned back to Stiles. "But I remember hearing about how you were always meddling in investigations and kept getting busted at crime scenes snooping about. I figured there'd be no fucking way in hell you're not tryna solve this mystery."

"Damn right," Stiles muttered then clapped Jackson on the arm. "Seriously. Thanks."

The blond shrugged as he straightened up. "'Least I could do after you helped my Mate like that," he replied before rising to his feet. "And I'll let you know the second I find something on those tapes. Big Guy's got me watching every second of 'em as part of my punishment for lying." He gave them a wave then headed to the door, pausing halfway when Lydia called his name.

"I'm happy for you," she told him sweetly, genuine smile on her face that Stiles didn't think he'd ever see aimed Jackson's way ever again. "Isaac seems to be really good for you."

The alpha's face lit up as he beamed at the mention of his Mate's name. "We're good for each other," he clarified, saying his goodbyes once again. Opening the door, he slightly reared back at the sight of Derek on the other side, hand reaching for the knob.

Stiles felt his lips curl up in a smile of their own and he pressed them together to hide it. Not that it mattered. The grin he could see out the corner of his eye spreading across Lydia's face meant she already saw it, or was detecting the way his scent lit up with happiness at seeing the alpha.

Dammit.

"Hey, Cap," he greeted with a nervous smile, slightly cowering beneath the weight of his boss' confused frown.

"What're you doing here?"

"Isaac's conked out on the break room couch so I thought I'd thank Stilinski for his help and see if they needed anything." He wrapped it up with a shrug of one shoulder, lying easily.

Derek slowly nodded once, seeming to believe him before stepping to the side and motioning into the hallway with his head. "Back to work."

"Yes, sir." With that, Jackson slipped out the room and scampered away to do his job.

Derek fully stepped into the room and Stiles took note of a plastic bag in his hand, what appeared to be two styrofoam containers inside. Their lunch from the diner, he concluded, although after seeing the crime scene photos and hearing what Jackson said about a mysterious caller that'd freaked Stu out, he wasn't entirely sure he was all that hungry anymore.

Lydia gracefully rose to her feet, excusing herself by saying she was off to find Parrish, giving Stiles a knowing, conspiring look before she disappeared. Derek stared after her with a cocked eyebrow only to dismiss it, closing his office door.

"Lunch," he declared unnecessarily, raising the bag in the air to show it off.

"'M not hungry," Stiles murmured, staring down at where his fingers were tangling and untangling between his knees.

The alpha breathed out a swear, smearing a hand down his face. "I forgot about the photos. Fuck, I'm sorry."

He shrugged it off, wringing the back of his neck. "Not the first time I've seen photos of a murder victim," he claimed with a fake smirk and a nonchalance he didn't feel, peeking up to see the puzzled look on the older man's face. "Sheriff dad and a bad habit of sticking my snout where it doesn't belong."

Bottom lip sticking out, Derek bobbed his eyebrows and his head in a conceding manner, wiping the expression away as he turned to the board. "Wanna get outta here?" he questioned, sounding as though he really wanted to yet didn't wanna influence Stiles' decision. "With Laura in charge, I don't really have anything to do around here and I'm sure you'd get bored just hanging about."

Stiles wanted to correct him on that, wanted to bring the sheriff dad and snooping habit back up, only to realize that was a terrible, stupid idea. Because then Derek would start wondering where else Stiles was rifling around and would keep a closer eye on him, meaning the omega couldn't give in to the aforementioned snooping habit. Not very helpful when conducting a secretive investigation.

But hanging around HQ also sounded like a terrible idea, too many people around to overhear or walk in on him looking through something he wasn't suppose to. Plus he was dying to figure out his brother's weird lens flare message, to try the new password he'd figured out on his laptop, to add new info to his own notes to see if they helped at all.

Peering up at the chalkboard, he tried to memorize as much of it as he could, nodding as he breathed out a "yeah". Decision made, he rose to his feet, prying his eyes away and focusing on Derek. His face was pulled in a frown, but his scent was practically nonexistent, not allowing Stiles to get a read on his emotions. Without a word, the alpha led him to the door and out it, the twosome silently leaving the S-Dubs' HQ.


	16. The Bed.

After putting their uneaten lunches in the fridge, Derek offered Stiles first shower, something he gratefully accepted. He didn't mess around too much, focusing solely on getting clean, scrubbing harder than usual in an attempt to wash the day away.

Once he was out and dressed in a clean pair of boxers and a plain tee, he sent his dad a text apologizing for not contacting throughout the day and explaining that he'd been busy at the ME's office and then Derek's work.

“ _I'm not even gonna bother explaining to you how unethical it was for you to get involved in a criminal investigation like that since I know you won't listen. But what did the ME say?_ ”

Stiles had a moment of hesitation, of debating with himself, before gleaming over the details. “ _Killed by an alpha, sanguine asphyxiation._ ” His dad didn't need to know exactly how, didn't need those images in his head, and he sure as hell didn't need to know about his son having been raped on top of it all. Stiles would bear the brunt of that knowledge, would gladly be the one tortured by those crime scene photos if it meant his dad didn't have to.

He grabbed his notepad and jotted down what he'd learned at the ME's as he exchanged texts with his dad, chuckling lowly at a story of Alpha Katashi getting in to it with Alpha Satomi, the latter one kicking his ass despite being five-foot-fuck-all at most and probably a hundred years old. The messages tapered off as he began writing notes about the computer system at the S-Dub's HQ, the new message he'd received.

“This ship doesn't have lens flares,” he murmured to himself, tapping the pen on the pad as he glanced around the room, trying to figure out what the hell his brother was talking about.

But all he could think about was JJ fucking Abrams and those godforsaken lens flares in the _Star Trek_ reboot, how it'd led to a debate between the twins when he was tapped to direct the new _Star Wars_ movie. Stiles had loudly declared that there'd better be no lens flares in it, Stu saying there wouldn't be because _Star Wars_ was “too dark”, pointing out how the bad guys won at the end of two of the movies.

Which was what made them so fucking great and really, cynical Stu should've understood that more than Stiles.

The memory blended into another one, when Stu had told Stiles that JJ Abrams was co-writing a book about a pirate ship or some crap and Stiles had jokingly asked how he'd manage to get lens flares in that, getting a punch to the—

Wait.

Inhaling sharply, he tossed the pen and pad onto the bed next to him before hopping off it and racing to the book case. He quickly scanned the titles, finding it—unsurprisingly—beside a collection of _Star Trek_ novels and he pulled it out of its space.

_S_.

Slipping the book out of its black sleeve, he took in the cover of the book itself, _The Ship of Theseus_ , remembering Stu trying to explain that it was a book within a story and Stiles being too bored to care and spacing out. Flipping it open, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground and he crouched down to pick it up, noting it was a ticket stub for the latest _Star Trek_ movie. He went to put it back where it had fallen from, only to realize there was writing on the back of it, turning it over to read it.

“ _Must've left it in my other ship :P_ ”

“Oh fuck you, Stuart,” he muttered, putting the ticket in the book, the book in its sleeve, and the whole thing back on the shelf. He smeared a hand over his face as he glanced around the room, trying to figure out what his brother was going on about now and why the hell he had to be related to an ass like him.

His eyes came across the model _Enterprise_ on Stu's desk, the only other ship in the room, and Stiles felt hope flare up in his chest. With long strides, he made his way over and sank down onto the chair, picking up the starship and hearing a plastic rattling as he inspected it, finding a slot located along the top.

A piggy bank.

“Sneaky asshole,” he grumbled as he removed it from its stand and flipped it over, finding the rubber plug to get the change out. Popping it out, he shook the bank about, trying to get whatever was inside out, only to have no success and having to try and slide his fingers inside. It took some finagling, but he finally managed to remove the objects: two small flashdrives, each with a piece of masking tape and a number on them, and a folded up slip of paper. He put the drives to the side, opening up the paper and finding his twin's handwriting once more.

“ _Check them out in the order they're numbered._ ”

Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes, balling up the note and tossing it into a trashcan hidden under the desk. Fucking prick. Wasn't like he couldn't figure that one out for himself. Part of him wanted to be vindictive and check them out of order, just to be a dick, but there wasn't anyone around that he'd piss off by doing that. Besides, Stu had gone through a lot of trouble hiding them, leaving a trail of clues that only Stiles could decipher, going so far as to put an error code within the system he'd created for the town's security center. There was obviously a reason for all the madness and it would be an idiotic move—not to mention pretty douchy—to not just do as he was told with it.

Speaking of douchy, he thought, his stomach rumbling. Apparently his appetite was back, and pissed that lunch had been missed—repeatedly. With a sigh, he got up, hiding the flashdrives in his duffel before scuffing his way to the kitchen to grab his food.

His container was on top and he quickly found a plate, taking the meat off his burger to heat it up in the microwave. He grabbed a bottle of water in the interim, taking a few huge gulps. Derek shuffled his way in soon after, wearing the same mesh basketball shorts and tank as the night before, hand roughing through his hair repeatedly. Stiles completely forgot what he was doing, too busy staring at the alpha's ass as he bent down to reach into the fridge for a drink of his own, butt perfectly displayed through black mesh.

Jesus fuck, he was unfair to mere mortals like Stiles.

The microwave beeping made him jump, arms flailing as he was jerked back to reality. He put his water bottle on the island counter before he accidentally threw it across the room, smearing a hand over his face to regain his composure, then headed over to the appliance to remove his burger. The fridge door closed behind him and he absolutely refused to turn around and get a face full of pecs and shoulders and biceps and whatever other muscles Derek had that were beyond ridiculous, alpha dynamic or not. So instead, he focused solely on putting his burger back together, damn near burning himself on the nuked patty.

Derek joined him at the island, transferring his own burger patty and fries onto a plate, quirking an eyebrow at Stiles reconstructing his inside the styrofoam container. “You not heating up your fries?”

“Nope,” Stiles answered, popping the “p”, before putting three right in his mouth. He grinned wide up at the alpha as he chewed, amused as hell at the disgusted look he got in response.

“You and your brother are so fucking weird,” he muttered, taking his plate over to the microwave. “Assuming he really _was_ into cold fries, because so far, he's lied about coffee, pickles, and ketchup on eggs.”

“Ketchup on eggs is disgusting and only done by heathens,” Stiles repeated his words from breakfast, shuddering at memories of Stu pouring the red crap all over his eggs. At least that way he was guaranteed to never have them stolen by Stiles.

Their dad on the other hand...

“But no, he was being honest on the cold fries front,” he concluded, lifting his burger and taking a big bite.

“Fucking weird,” Derek repeated, hitting buttons on the microwave and making it start up.

The twosome sat side by side at the island counter as they ate their reheated lunch for dinner, discussing foods they both loved and hated. Both agreed on meat lovers pizza—although Stiles admitted to not having had it in a while, ordering veggie lovers more recently for his dad—and ice cream as the best dessert—it was a tie between moose tracks and cookie dough as to the best flavor, but Derek put in a good argument for regular chocolate—but disagreed on style of fries—curly for Stiles, Derek being a freak who preferred thick cut—and chicken—nuggets for Stiles, grilled breasts for Derek, which Stiles actually requested Derek try to talk his dad into enjoying more.

Which promptly brought conversation to a standstill when they both realized that would never happen. Derek was never gonna meet the sheriff because there was no reason for him to. Meeting the in-laws of a Mate that was no longer living would only hurt everyone involved, a slap in the face reminder of the mutual relation they once had. And it wasn't like Stiles could introduce Derek as his own Mate, because as far as anyone else on the planet was concerned, they didn't have that connection.

Well, anyone except Lydia, but she was always the exception.

Clearing his throat, Derek rose to his feet, taking his plate to the dishwasher, back to the younger man. His every move was stiff, muscles tense, features hard. From his seat at the island, Stiles caught the scents of upset and agitation and his wolf began whimpering as a result.

Crumpling up his napkin, Stiles threw it in his styrofoam tray with as much force as he could given it was a flimsy paper product, done eating despite still having half a meal left. But his appetite had disappeared again, replaced with a heavy ball of regret and disappointment taking up too much space in his stomach. Although he wasn't sure what he regretted more: his words for ruining the easy companionship they'd fallen into, or the fact that he wouldn't be bringing Derek home to meet his dad.

He closed the styrofoam container, shoving it away from him, then winced as he scratched his forehead with a finger. “Yeah, I'm sor—”

“Sleep with me.”

What the—what? Really? What?

Stiles gaped at the older man, watching as he turned and leaned back against the counter, arms folded over his chest nonchalantly. Like he hadn't just dropped a bomb like that, hadn't just asked Stiles to sleep with him, out of seemingly nowhere, during an incredibly awkward pause where they'd been reminded that they couldn't be together like their instincts were telling them to be.

What the hell?

But it wasn't like Stiles was _opposed_ to the proposition. Fuck no. At those words, his cock had twitched and his hole pulsed and his mind became inundated with countless flashes from countless Dreams, ideas forming of what exactly they could do together, images he wouldn't mind recreating in real life. He licked his lips as his eyes went half-lidded, whiskey orbs drifting down and taking inventory of the man standing across the room from him, all muscles and whiskers and strength and alpha and _Mate_ and _Derek_ and yeah, Stiles had no issue taking him up on that offer.

The alpha's nostrils flared, eyes flashing red before widening and he shook it all off. “No, Stiles. Fuck,” he grumbled, rubbing at his closed eyes. “I _meant_ sleep as in share a bed, not—” He moved his hand from his eyes to gesture about in the air. “That.”

Oops.

Stiles felt his face heat up as embarrassment flooded him, killing his arousal. Squirming in his seat, he let out an uneasy laugh, shaky grin on his face as he faked lightheartedness and pretended it was all good, when really, he was kind of dying inside of mortification. "Right, yeah, totally," he agreed, giving the other man a thumbs up. "Totally knew that's what you meant."

Derek simply rolled his eyes, but he didn't take his offer back, so Stiles couldn't have screwed up _too_ bad.

He picked at a hangnail as his hands rested on the counter, frowning down at them in uncertainty. "You think that's a good idea though? Us sharing a bed?" He scratched at a sideburn, shrugging. "I mean, you said that—" he pointed to the counter he'd been hoisted on the night before, knowing the hint had been taken and understood by the way the tips of Derek's ears went red "—couldn't happen again and I feel like sharing a bed would more than likely lead to that happening again."

Derek's eyebrows bobbed in concession, hand rubbing at his jaw, the rasp of his whiskers hitting Stiles' ear. "If it'll make you feel better, we'll put pillows between us and create a barrier."

Right. Like that ever worked. And Stiles opened his mouth to say just that, only to be cut off.

"I just—" the alpha started then paused, turning his head to his left and staring unseeing at the laundry room. "I didn't sleep last night. My wolf was pissed that you were on the other side of the house and not next to me, then I had the Dream— _we_ had the Dream, then what happened in the kitchen happened, so I wound up spending the rest of the night wide awake convincing myself that going to your room to finish what we started was a terrible idea."

Stiles scowled down at his hands, internally wincing at the blow to his ego. "So you want me in the bed with you so you can get some sleep?" he concluded, voice flat and not giving away the hurt he was feeling inside.

Which was a lot.

"No," Derek was quick to argue, turning back towards him. "I don't care if I never sleep again. I just wanna know that you're right next to me and that you're safe and okay and getting some rest of your own."

Stiles snorted. "Yeah, I don't sleep all that well either. Stu's not the only one with insomnia."

"Then I'll stay up all night keeping you company, I don't care. I just." He paused to sigh, shrugging and shaking his head. "I just want you next to me. _You_."

Fucking hell.

And fuck if Stiles didn't want the same damn thing.

He even opened his mouth to agree, to tell him he wanted to lay down next to Derek, stay up all night next to Derek, finally crash from exhaustion next to Derek, wake up next to Derek. But that couldn't happen, and not just because Stiles' self-restraint was minimal at best, but because everyone would know. There were no secrets among wolves, not when lies were detected through heartbeats and scents were used to tell where someone had been, who they'd been with, and what emotions they were feeling. A select few had the ability to mask their scent, hide themselves and what they were feeling. Stiles wasn't one of them.

Wringing the back of his neck, he grimaced, lips twisting to the side as he tried to gather the courage to actually say what needed to be said. "We can't," he said lowly, hand moving to scratch the top of his scalp in comfort. "Lydia already caught your scent on me and is suspicious. Anyone else smells it and everyone's gonna think you're sleeping with me—like, sex sleeping with me—as a replacement for Stu."

Derek smeared a hand over his face as he breathed out a swear. Obviously that little factoid had slipped his mind and put a damper on his plan. Arms folded, he worked his jaw in thought, glancing about the room as though he could find a solution taped on a cabinet door or hidden in the grains of the wood floor. His eyes suddenly lit up, brows raising, his scent shifting from disappointed upset to hopeful excitement as he turned back to the other man.

"We'll lie," he stated, as if it would be that simple. "If anyone asks, we'll tell them that I couldn't sleep alone after having my Mate next to me for so long and you, as an omega, needed physical comfort during this hard time after having lost your twin."

Stiles tugged at his hair, contemplating it. It sounded pretty damn believable, and it was just enough of the truth that they'd get away with it. Still seemed like a bad idea, way risky, but the reward of being able to lie next to his Mate more than outweighed it. And besides, it wouldn't be the first time he did something dumb and at least in this instance he had better reasoning than curiosity, boredom, and "it seemed like a good idea at the time, how was I supposed to know that would happen?"

And really, it wasn't like Derek's fake reasons were _actually_ fake or lies. As much as Stiles was loathe to admit, some stereotypes about omegas were true—after all, the rumors had to start somewhere, right? And the one about them seeking physical comfort during times of duress and upset? Definitely true. He and Stu had spent more time in each other's beds during their mom's illness and after her death than they had apart and after Stu's disappearance, Stiles had spent a great amount of time snuggling up to Scott and Lydia both. Telling people he'd spent the night in Derek's bed because he needed the physical comfort wasn't all that far-fetched. And considering how everyone believed Stu and Derek had been Mates, the cuddling would be seen as nothing more than just platonic touches between technical brothers.

With a sigh, he dropped his hand, mind made up. "Okay," he agreed, rising to his feet. "Just lemme grab my pillow."

Derek quirked an eyebrow at that, watching him cross the room to throw away his box.

"Can't sleep without it," he murmured with a shrug.

A single nod was the alpha's response before he pushed away from the counter. "I'll meet you in the bedroom."

Stiles nodded back, smoothing down his hair at the back of his head before scuffing his way with bare feet to the guest bathroom. He brushed his teeth and washed his face, used the facilities one last time, all without looking at the mirror. Because he knew if he did and if he _really_ took a good look at himself, he'd manage to psych himself out of it. Better not to look himself in the eye and wonder what Stu would think of all this.

Nope, no way, nuh uh. No thinking of Stu. Stu would be glad the man he loved and his twin were getting along and comforting one another, that was it. That was all Stiles was gonna let himself think.

Back in the office-slash-guest room, he checked his phone for messages and found none, then plugged it in to be charged. He snatched his pillow off the bed and after a moment's hesitation, grabbed the borrowed ones, too. Better for the barrier, he reasoned. With one final glance around the room to double-check he had everything, he headed out, flipping off the light on his way.

The door to the master bedroom was wide open so he invited himself in, glancing around the room. The wall opposite him was home to the biggest bed Stiles had ever seen in his life, no frame to be found, fluffy comforter rolled down to the end of it, flat sheet folded down in an inviting manner, the linens all white to match the walls. An oak nightstand was on either side, both with a lamp on top, each one turned on to provide a soft, relaxing light in the room. The wall to his right held side-by-side windows covered with beige black-out blinds, an oak trunk underneath, covered with throw pillows that'd most likely just been removed from the bed. The wall to his left held an open doorway leading to the bathroom, presumably where Derek was at the moment, getting ready for bed judging by the sound of running water. White louver doors were on the left side of the door, most likely the closet, an overstuffed white armchair tucked into the corner on the opposite side. The final wall featured a tall oak dresser, Derek's wallet and cell phone sitting on top, a handful of change in a small metal bowl to the side, a metal wolf set on a slice of what Stiles was pretty sure was tiger's eye in the middle. A framed print of a wolf painting was above the dresser, a similar piece above the bed, the art impersonal and found in every home and every furniture store and every thrift shop. Nothing special and nothing that spoke of who lived in the room.

He looked around the space, hoping to find a knickknack or a framed photo or anything really to find any clue as to who lived in that space and found nothing, just a docking station for an iPhone on one nightstand and an alarm on the other. Fucking hell, it was almost depressing really. More of their personalities showed through in their office, the place where _work_ was done, than their bedroom, the place where one could display whatever mattered the most to them.

Another red flag popped up, but Stiles didn't think it added to any sort of guilt or proved that Derek was the killer. It was more a sign that their Mating wasn't typical by any means, even when taking into consideration Dream-less couples who fall in love through not so conventional routes.

Whatever. He knew Stu and Derek weren't True Mates, that much was obvious and factual, but he'd still been under the impression that they'd been in love. After all, why would they agree to spend their lives together and exchange Claiming Bites if they didn't?

Yeah, right, okay, no more thinking about the state of his brother's Mating, not when he's about to share a bed with his Mate. Who just happened to be Stiles' True Mate, but they weren't together due to how the townsfolk would perceive it. 

Which he also needed to not think about. God, things were complicated as fuck.

He shook his head almost violently to get rid of any and all errant thoughts before schlepping his way over to the bed. Judging everything by the scents embedded in the pillows and mattress, he went for the side by the bathroom door, unsurprised that was his brother's side. In typical overprotective alpha fashion, Derek chose to sleep closer to the windows and hallway door, closer to any points of entry in order to make sure his Mate was safe and secure. 

Kneeling on the bed, Stiles felt the mattress give, knee practically sinking in to it, noting it was one of those fancy ass memory foam deals. Okay, cool, another reason to be jealous of Stu, got it. Guy fucking had it made while Stiles was off having nightmares and panic attacks over his well-being.

Or maybe not, given the stalker alpha and all.

Yeah, that was something else he wasn't gonna think about.

He dropped the pillows next to him then grabbed the top one from the head of the bed, laying it perpendicular to the remaining ones in the middle of the bed. The other two pillows from the office-slash-guest room were used to further the barrier down the bed, his own personal one from home laying where his head would go.

Derek came through as he was straightening the pillow barrier and making sure the two sides of the bed were equal, amused smirk growing on his face as he took in what Stiles was doing. “Seriously?” he chuckled, stepping around to his side.

The omega shrugged as he stood on his own side—or his temporary side. Borrowed side? Whatever, it was his side for the moment. Putting his hands on his hips, he stared down at his work, impressed pout forming on his face as he nodded. “You said we'd put one, so we're putting one.”

Another chuckle left the older man, his hands going up in innocence at the sight of the other's glare. “Hey, if this will make you comfortable and help you sleep, by all means.”

“Yeah, I told you I don't sleep,” Stiles admitted. “Not well. Pillow helps though.” He pointed at it, the dark blue case contrasting sharply with the all-white linens of the bed.

Derek just nodded and gave a flat “okay” before reaching down and grabbing the bottom of his tank, clearly readying himself to take it off.

Stiles stood there gaping, frozen, not entirely sure what he was supposed to do. The right thing would be turn away, give the man his privacy, especially since he was still technically taken—and by his damn _twin_. But Derek had also paraded around the house in his boxer-briefs the night before so it wasn't like Stiles hadn't seen any of it already.

Except Derek probably hadn't planned on being seen by anyone in the middle of the night in his own home. Plus with the low lighting it was hard to really get a good look at anything.

Not that he _wanted_ to get a good look or anything.

Okay, he did. He so very fucking much did. And it was his fucking right as Derek's Mate to be able to look and gawk and stare and gander and all those other synonyms for feasting his eyes upon the magnificence that is Derek fucking Hale.

But he kinda didn't have that right. Not really. Not when they both agreed to not repeat the previous night's actions or actually do anything about their connection. Not when Derek still bore the Claiming Bite of someone else.

Someone who fucking shared exact DNA with Stiles.

Ah, the universe. What a douchebag.

Stiles tugged at his hair, still debating, watching white fabric lift up and cover a face that should honestly never be covered, eyes flicking down to take in broad pecs, chiseled obliques, ridged abdominals, inches of smooth, tan flesh that he wanted to lick all over and rub himself on like a kitten or some shit. A line of dark hair spread from his belly button down to his mesh shorts, a happy trail never seeming happier, and, _fuck_ , what Stiles wouldn't give to follow it with his mouth, to slide those shorts down and find the treasure that lay at the end of it all.

Cheesy, but fuck that, he still wanted to do it.

His tongue darted out to lick dry lips, eyes still roaming the torso that had been revealed to him. Sharp collarbones he wanted to nip, rounded shoulders he knew for a fact where perfect for gripping on to, flanks he wanted to scour with his claws. Fuck, it was even better than in those Dreams, because this was _real_ , this was _happening_ , this was in front of him in actual time in his actual life and not some revery that would disappear the second he woke up. He could ogle and stare and gape all he wanted because it wasn't gonna disappear, wasn't gonna float away. It was Derek, and he was _there_ , right there.

Jesus Christ, he was beautiful. He truly was a work of fucking art.

“Stiles?”

He lifted his head at the soft sound of his name, finding Derek watching him with an expected and curious look, brows raised, lips slightly twisted to the side. Shit. Busted. Oh fuck, shit, fuck.

Wait, no. He wasn't in trouble. Okay, yeah, he was clearly caught drooling over the other guy—possibly even literally considering how one corner of his mouth felt a little wetter than the other—but he hadn't actually done anything wrong. He was allowed to look, it was totally allowed, it was very much allowed. It wasn't like he was peeking in through a window or a hole drilled in the wall of the shower or something equally as creepy and illegal. No. He was just staring at a shirtless guy who was in the same room as him. A very hot shirtless guy. A very hot shirtless guy with muscles Stiles could barely remember the names of as his brain turned to mush at the sight of the chiseled Greek god of gorgeousness across the bed from him.

Yeah, he was definitely drooling.

He smeared the back of his hand across his mouth, noting how Derek had now quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head to him. Oh, shit, had he said something? Oh god, he was a moron. Busted staring and now he was looking like an idiot for not responding to whatever had been said.

Assuming something had been said.

Given Derek's current facial expression, something had been said.

Whoops.

“Huh?”

Eloquently stated. He deserved points for that.

“I asked if you wanted me to put my shirt back on,” Derek repeated, holding up the tank in question, both eyebrows raising in expectation once more.

“No, nope, no,” he replied, shaking his head, hands on his hips. “It's fine, it's cool, it's totally. Totally cool. You do you, big guy.” He gave the alpha a thumbs up and a wink, clicking his tongue and smirking, pretending like embarrassment hadn't flooded his scent and that his wolf wasn't covering its face with its paws because even it was mortified at Stiles' behavior.

Derek's lips pressed together as he struggled to hide the smirk that was lighting his eyes up, nodding. “Okay then.”

“Mmhmm. Yep. Totally okay. Beyond okay. Like okay-squared.” Why was he talking? Someone needed to shut him up. Seriously. Even his wolf was whining for it to be over.

Clamping his mouth shut, he pulled back the top sheet and got under it, flipping off the lamp before laying on his side facing away from Derek.

“You gonna be comfortable?” Derek asked, the sound of fabric swishing accompanying it. Meaning he was taking off more clothes, most likely those shorts. Alright, so parading around in his boxer-briefs was clearly the norm for him since it was apparently what he slept in. Made sense given an alpha's higher internal temp, but definitely wasn't helping Stiles any, not with the memory of how Derek looked in them coming to the forefront of his mind.

Fuck.

No. No fuck. They agreed on no fucking. But there was no telling his body that as his cock twitched and his heart pounded. There was no telling his mind as memories of seeing and feeling Derek up against him the previous night took over and played on an endless loop. There was no telling his wolf as it rolled over and fucking presented, as though Derek could even see that.

But he was better than all that, dammit. He was in total control. He could handle the situation and handle sleeping next to Derek.

He was pretty sure he could anyway.

He hoped so.

Oh crap, he'd been asked something and he'd totally spaced again. Jesus...

“Yep,” he replied, popping the “p” as he tucked the sheet under his arm, clutching the corner of it in his usual habit.

“You sure?” Derek questioned further, voice getting closer as he climbed into bed behind him. “Because sleeping with an alpha can get pretty hot.”

Oh fuck...

His cock twitched again at that, his passage getting damp, both taking the dirtier connotation of those words rather than the innocent meaning behind them.

But once again, Stiles was stronger. Or at least he was trying to be and was gonna act like he was. He wasn't some weak pissant omega. He had this under control.

Shuffling in place, he arranged his features into a scowl, keeping his eyes closed to resist the temptation of turning over and seeing exactly what Derek looked like at that moment, in just his underwear in a bed with Stiles. Nope, not looking, not at all.

“It's also very loud and chatty,” he grumbled, blindly reaching behind himself to clamp his hand over the other man's mouth, but instead, smearing his palm all over his face. Derek simply chuckled, playfully nipping at the mound of flesh at the base of his thumb and causing him to pull his hand back. “Go to sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, turning off his own lamp and settling down. “Night, Stiles.”

“Oh my god, shut up. Good night, Derek.”

Another chuckle sounded out from the alpha as he got comfy then let out a soft sigh, seemingly settling in for the night. Good. The less he spoke, the more Stiles could pretend they weren't in a bed together and he could get some sleep of his own.

Only.

That didn't happen.

Because he was still Stiles, and all he could do was think about the heartbeat next to his and the smell of the alpha filling the air and in the sheets and the body heat radiating off him that could still be felt despite the pillow barrier. All he could think about was how he was currently on the comfiest fucking mattress he'd ever felt in his entire life but because it wasn't his own bed, he just didn't feel right. All he could think about was maybe it was because he wasn't in the middle of the bed like he preferred.

Stupid pillow barrier. Whose idiot idea was that anyway?

Right. Derek's. Of course it was.

He scowled before turning over, smooshing his face right up against the barrier, moved his head so it was laying on top of it, shifted so he was spooning it, scooted over further so he was practically half on top of it.

A sigh was heard from in front of him and peeked one eye open, catching sight of Derek's rather fucking glorious naked back, taking note of a tattoo of three swirls with the same origin point—a triskele, his mind corrected—in between his shoulder blades. How the hell had he missed that the night before?

Oh. Right. Rejection and dealing with a hard on and wet boxers would make a guy miss the details.

But now that he was seeing it, he definitely would be thinking about it for a long time to come, fantasies about tracing it with his tongue or his claws scraping down it as Derek pounded—

“Stiles.”

He jerked at how sharply his name was stated, both eyes flying open wide and staring as the alpha peered over his shoulder at him.

“Thought you wanted to sleep,” Derek pointed out, eyebrow cocked, lips tilted in amusement.

Stiles glared, rising up on an elbow and punching the pillow he'd just been laying on. “I always sleep in the middle of the bed,” he grumbled, fluffing it with more force and violence than necessary.

“We could always get rid of the barrier if you want,” the older man suggested as he rolled onto his back, sheet down around his hips, hands folded on his belly. “Unless you're afraid you can't keep your hands to yourself.”

He choked in offense, sitting up, rolling his entire head along with his eyes. “Oh fuck you, Der,” he replied, shaking his head. “ _You_ accosted _me_ last night, not the other way around.”

The alpha turned his lips down in a pout, shrugging a shoulder. “Not the way I remember it.”

“Then you need to take something for your senility, old man.”

Derek snorted, rolling his own eyes. “I'm only eight years older than you. Young punk,” he added the last part with a smirk, sticking his tongue out.

Stiles scowled down at him, not appreciating the chuckle he got in response. Not that his scowl was all that intimidating or even _meant_ to be intimidating, but still. Not cool. His eyes flicked down to the pillow barrier, idea forming in his head. The corner of his lips quirked up in a smirk he tried to fight off, but it was too late. He'd been found out.

“Oh hell no,” Derek objected, rearing up and moving so that Stiles was on his back on the bed, pinned down by the alpha's hands on his wrists and chest on his chest.

That familiar electrical charge zinged through him, his every nerve ending sparking as he felt that warm tingling buzzing spread all over his body. His eyes met Derek's light ones, his own chest heaving as his breathing got shakier, tremors wracking his body. He was suddenly so very fucking aware of where he was, where _they_ were, of the position of his own body, splay-legged and on his back, an alpha— _his_ alpha holding him in place. It would only take a minor shift to get Derek where Stiles truly wanted him, to get him between his legs, their cocks rubbing together just like they had the night before, chests sliding together as their scents mingled.

A moan left him as his eyes drifted closed and his head tilted back on his pillow, putting his neck on display, _submitting_. His hips bucked up, seeking friction as his dick hardened within his boxers, his passage dampening. Fuck, it would be so easy, just pick up where they'd left off, take it further. Derek's finger in his ass and his cock against his, lips moving together as their bodies rocked. He wouldn't have to worry about any weird stains on the counter or falling off it or how to position themselves. No, it was just the two of them coming together, Stiles pinned down like he had been so many times in those Dreams.

Because despite the different setting, this was definitely starting out like their Dreams.

A low rumble vibrated up from Derek's chest, making Stiles whimper, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. He opened his eyes to a flash of red that the alpha shook off, muscle in his jaw ticking as he clenched it. Hell, everything on him seemed clenched up, muscles tense, eyes narrowed, lips a thin hard line. Only his hands wrapped around the younger man's wrists seemed to be relaxed, everything else taut, like he was holding himself back. His chest was shuddering as he struggled to take even breaths, his nostrils flaring with every inhale, taking in Stiles' scent as his arousal grew. 

“Derek,” he breathed out, lifting his head to rub the tip of his nose against the other man's, watching how his eyes shuttered closed and hearing how he choked off a whine.

“Tell me you don't want this,” Derek pleaded, begged, voice thick. But despite his protests, he smelled like want and need and _alpha_ and _Mate_ and Stiles had a hard time believing that Derek didn't want it just as fucking bad as he did. “Just say the word and I'll stop.”

“What's the word to keep going?” the omega retorted, hips rolling with a grace and sensuality he honestly didn't think he was capable of.

The older man whined, dropping his head to bury it in the crook of Stiles' neck and he bared it once more, offering anything and everything that Derek wanted. He could have it, all of it. Hell, Stiles wasn't entirely sure it didn't already belong to Derek.

“No one can know,” he huffed against his t-shirt covered collarbone and the younger man suddenly really fucking regretted keeping his shirt on. “No one can smell it. I can't come inside you, it'll never wash away.”

“That's okay, that's fine. Just, just— _fuck_ , Derek, I just need you, okay? You, you, you.” He pulled against the other man's hands, testing his grip and getting nowhere. Derek wasn't even trying, was barely putting any strength into it, yet he had Stiles completely pinned down and at his mercy.

His wolf was practically howling at that, and in all honesty, the human part of him kinda felt like joining in.

Derek lifted his head, looking Stiles dead in the eye, face completely serious and grave. “No sex. At all. Fooling around, foreplay type stuff, that's okay. No sex.”

Stiles nodded vehemently, all for whatever had those hands letting go of his forearms and sliding into his boxers—and hopefully into a certain part of his anatomy. “No sex, got it.”

The alpha nodded back before lowering his head once more, this time to connect his lips to Stiles'. Sparks exploded behind the younger man's eyes, a soft whine leaving him as he scrunched his brow, trying to pull him in closer with his mouth. He tugged against the hands once more, relishing when they let him go, and he automatically framed the other man's face, one hand sliding back and around to tangle in his dark hair. He felt more than heard as Derek moved between his legs, lowering his body and settling on him, bodies aligned from chest to groin, a delicious half-hard bulge pressing against his. A gasp left Stiles, swallowed by Derek's smile, the older man rolling his hips in response.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles groaned, pulling Derek back in for another kiss.

Warm hands cupped his hips before sliding up his sides, pushing his tee up with them. Their kiss broke, his arms automatically lifting so the shirt could be fully removed, putting his current attire on the same level as the broad frame above his leaner one.

Derek stared down, light eyes flicking about as they took in his torso. Stiles looked down at himself, not seeing anything all that special. Barely there indents of what could possibly eventually be a six-pack if he ever put forth the effort to actually _get_ abs, small patch of wiry chest hair between his flat pecs, thick trail leading from his belly button to his boxers, spreading out as it went further down, moles speckled here and there. With a flat hand, Derek slid his palm up his flank, his skin almost burning in the most delicious way.

“Even more beautiful than the Dreams,” he murmured reverently, absently, like he wasn't even aware that he'd said it out loud.

Stiles' eyes snapped up, watching as Derek slowly lifted his head to meet them, lips parted in awe and slight embarrassment. But before he could talk his way out of it, the omega grabbed him by the neck and hauled him in for another kiss.

Their hips began rocking together on automatic, Stiles gasping once again at the sensation, but keeping his lips on Derek's, tongues flicking together between them. His cock was fully hard now, as was Derek's from the feel of it, his passage wet and hole twitching open. He could feel his slick begin to drip out of him, dampening between his cheeks, being pressed into his boxers as he moved. He hitched a leg around the other man, foot resting on the swell of his ass, pulling himself even closer, needing more.

“Please,” he breathed against Derek's lips, arm wrapped around his neck to hold him near, so he couldn't get away. “Der. Please.”

The alpha nodded as if he knew what Stiles was asking, yet the hand sliding down his side and around to his lower back suggested that maybe he did. Lips moving together once more, the hand slipped inside his boxers, cupping his cheek, squeezing it and making him exhale sharply. Without delay, it moved over, fingers sliding between his cheeks, tip of the middle one playing with his hole, just like the night before.

Stiles pulled away to pant, keeping his forehead to Derek's, his eyes closed as he gave over to the sensation of just _feeling_. His hole was pulsing, opening, trying to pull that finger inside as it rubbed and massaged the rim. He whined as he bit his lip, hand grasping onto Derek's side, finding slippery finger holds on sweat-slicked obliques. The tip of the finger slipped inside and he tensed up all over at the initial intrusion before forcing himself to relax. It wasn't anything he hadn't felt before, the alpha having had that very finger inside him the previous night. Not to mention he'd had three of his own fingers up there on occasion, the angle never quite right and his wrist hating him the next morning and making him wonder if it'd been worth it, only to decide that yeah, it totally was when he did it again.

Derek slid his finger all the way in and Stiles let his head fall back on the pillow on a long groan, rim clenching around the digit to hold it in. He felt the tip of it rubbing against his walls, more slick being produced from the stimulation, and he let out a combination laugh and moan, mouth hanging open.

“Anyone ever touch you like this?” Derek questioned, dragging his lips up the sensitive column of Stiles' throat, his every breath making the omega shudder.

He swallowed hard, lips given a messy kiss to his adam's apple, hips jerking. “No,” he admitted lowly, squeezing around the finger once more. “Just me.”

A low growl rumbled up from Derek and he looked up to see his eyes turning a dull shade of red. His finger began sliding in and out, causing Stiles to gasp, breathing stuttered. Fuck it felt so much better when it was someone else, Derek's fingers thicker, able to get a better angle inside of him, stroking his walls just right.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned, aware that his own eyes had flashed omega gold for a brief moment.

“No one's ever done this to you?” Derek asked further, propped up on one elbow, peering down at Stiles as he continued to move his finger. “No one's ever felt your walls clench around their finger? No one's ever found that spot to make you scream?”

As if to prove a point, Derek rubbed against his prostate, dragging a rough cry from him, his back arching off the bed.

“No one's ever been inside you like this?”

Stiles shook his head vehemently, eyes locked onto the older man's. “Nope, never, no one.”

The alpha growled again, lowering down to claim his lips in a brutal kiss, one that was returned just as passionately. The finger was now tugging at his rim, pulling it, stretching it, making him whine, but it was worth it when a second slipped inside and both began sliding in and out, filling and stretching him further.

He had no idea how long it went on for, his body adrift as he got lost in the sensations, in fingers and lips and scents. The air was now filled with the smells of Stiles and Derek and _StilesAndDerek_ , sex and lust and desire all mingling with it, creating an olfactory cocktail that was making his head spin in the best sorta way. But all too soon, it felt like it wasn't enough, and Derek was slowing down, his face screwing up in pain as he pulled away from their kiss.

“Wrist is cramping,” he admitted, sliding his hand out, despite Stiles' protesting whines and grabby hands at him to keep him close. He rubbed their noses together, kissed the tip of Stiles' before slinking up into a sitting position. “Don't worry. I'm not done with you,” he promised, voice gravelly, grinning wolfishly down at the omega and making him groan in pleasure rather than annoyance.

Shoving the pillow barrier off the bed, he moved so he was sitting upright on his side. Stiles didn't hesitate to clamber over and straddle his lap, arms draping over his shoulders, leaning in to reconnect their lips. Only to have Derek pull away, leaning over to the nightstand.

“Wanna see you,” he murmured, lamp coming on with a click, bathing the room in soft light.

Stiles stared at the alpha in awe, watching how the glow illuminated his skin, how shadows played on the indents of his muscles, the swell of them highlighted. His flesh looked warmer than usual, that tan of his clearly reaching all over, no pale lines to be found—at least not on his upper half. He was beautiful, a thought Stiles had repeatedly had since first laying eyes on him in the S-Dubs interrogation room, but no less true for its redundancy. If anything, it only became more pronounced and obvious each time it occurred to him, a fact that was right up there with blue skies and wet water.

If Stiles was staring too hard or for too long, Derek didn't care or didn't seem to even notice, too caught up in staring of his own. His fingers lightly traced the omega's face, down his nose, causing him to scrunch it up. He didn't need to be reminded of it, of the piggy nose he had, how unattractive it was.

“God, you have a cute nose,” Derek murmured before leaning forward and kissing it. With a smile, he moved so their cheeks were rubbing together and Stiles closed his eyes, relishing the _pleasurepain_ of whiskers rasping against his smooth cheek. “So fucking beautiful.”

He wanted to argue and disagree, but more than that, he didn't wanna ruin this moment. Because for the first time, he truly actually believed it. His chest clenched as he remembered that it didn't really matter what Derek saw in him, whether physically or otherwise, because Derek wasn't his to keep. They just had that night, maybe one more after that, only stolen moments that weren't supposed to happen but were too weak to resist. So he wrapped his arms around his neck, pulled him in close and shut his eyes, holding on to Derek like he was holding on to that moment.

Lips pressed to his shoulders, scattering kisses, working their way up his neck. Hands slid over his hips, fingers hooking under the band of his boxers and he rose up on his knees, taking the hint. The obstructive cotton was slid off, albeit a bit awkwardly, but it didn't matter. They were gone, tossed to the side, Stiles naked and bared before Derek's eyes, still up on his knees as he straddled him.

“Beautiful,” Derek repeated, staring only at Stiles' eyes, thumb reverently rubbing at the apple of his cheek, along his jaw, just like in the Dreams.

A smile formed on his face and he didn't bother thinking about how he disagreed, just let the warmth of his Mate's compliment wash over him. Sliding his fingers through dark locks on either side of Derek's head, Stiles bent down and kissed him, allowing the other man to maneuver him into position. The alpha didn't waste time sliding two fingers back inside him, free arm wrapping around his waist to keep him close.

Acting purely on instinct, Stiles lifted himself up slightly, gasping as those fingers slid out, then lowered down and was filled once more. His entire body was trembling, shaking, his every breath a shuddering thing. And Derek was in just a bad a state, mouth hanging open as he locked eyes with the omega, as his fingers were ridden, as he slipped a third one inside and made the younger man keen.

Their foreheads pressed together, sliding with the thin layer of sweat that was covering them both. This close Stiles could see that Derek's eyes weren't really green but an amalgam of greens and grays and browns, like an entire forest swirled together and poured into his irises. Stupid cliches of getting lost in someone's eyes came to his mind and he thought it might be true. Because he could seriously forget all the world and completely lose his place just _staring_ , trying to differentiate those colors and name them.

What a way to spend a lifetime though.

He closed his eyes against the thought of never getting the chance to do just that, focusing on the physical sensations once more. He arched his back as he moved his hips faster, pulling those fingers in deeper. Derek worked them expertly, rubbing at the exact right places, grazing his prostate just enough to make him cry out but never overwhelm him. It was perfect, amazing, incredible, and so very much not enough.

“Der,” he whined, reopening his eyes to the alpha's troubled look, concerned over what was wrong. “More. God, more.”

“You want another finger?” he asked, pinky tracing along the edge of his rim.

He shook his head, licking his lips and pressing them together. “You. Want you. Wan' you. Fuck me.”

Derek whimpered at that, ducking his head and nuzzling into the hollow of Stiles' throat. “Can't. Stiles, we can't.”

And he knew they couldn't, hadn't forgotten the reasons why or the issues it would cause if Stiles walked around smelling like Derek had claimed him. They were risking enough just doing what they were.

But still, Stiles _wanted_. He wanted to be filled in a more traditional sense by more traditional means. He couldn't help his instincts or his desires, couldn't help what he wanted. And if he wasn't able to keep Derek the way he wanted to, he at least wanted to know what it was like to feel him inside.

“You can pull out,” Stiles insisted, nodding his head when Derek shook his. “Yes, you can, I know you can. It's okay. Just don't come in me.”

“I won't be able to pull out,” Derek grit out, arm tightening around Stiles' waist. “If I fill you, I'm gonna knot you. My instincts and my wolf will take over and it's not pulling out until I've filled you properly.”

And fuck if that wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever heard.

He groaned, head lolling back, cock jerking between their bodies. “Jus' the tip.”

“Not stopping at just the tip. Want you too much.”

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.

His gums tingled as his fangs tried to descend, nail beds buzzing from his hidden claws. He peered down to find Derek looking grief-stricken and upset and that shouldn't be happening. Shifting his body, he moved so their groins were aligned, his cock wet with precome and staining the already soaked front of the alpha's boxer-briefs from his copious amount of released fluids. He relished the wide-eyed gasp he got, grinding them together as he rolled his hips, still pulling those fingers inside him. He felt the digits curl in response, rubbing on his prostate full-time now and making him keen once more. His arm flew out, hand slamming against the wall, head falling onto a broad shoulder as everything became so very fucking overwhelming. Derek inside him, Derek under him, Derek in front of him, around him, holding him. Derek's scent in his nose and heat on his flesh and Derek, Derek, _Derek_.

He cried out the other man's name as he came, spurting in thick ropes between them, clenching around the fingers inside him. He felt his body tense up all over as his synapses fired and sparked, pleasure racing through him, making him tremble and shake. His breath froze in his lungs, coming out in small choked off gasps, intermittent with whines and moans. Fucking hell. It was the most intense orgasm he'd ever had in his life, beyond any solo stroking job or post-Dream coming. Way beyond. Like, _way_ beyond.

He came back to himself in stages, slowly becoming aware that Derek was just as tense all over, head pressed back against the wall, hips jerking sporadically. Stiles peered down to see a growing wet stain on his boxer-briefs, wondering if that was caused by himself or...

He caught the scent of come, _two_ kinds of come, and knew it wasn't just himself who'd orgasmed. Feeling bold, he slipped a hand down between their bodies, cupping Derek in his hand.

The alpha lifted his head, brow scrunched up in that _pleasurepain_ mix Stiles had been experiencing, mouth hanging open, eyes glowing a steady red. Whimpers were leaving him, body shuddering, and Stiles felt another rush of wetness soak the black cotton against his palm. Twisting his hand, he carefully traced the outline of his bulge, being careful, knowing how sensitive certain parts of anatomy could be after coming. He felt the long girth of Derek's shaft, felt it twitch, the vein pulsing as he shot off another load. He stayed away from the head, moving further south, where it widened into his knot, and the older man gasped and groaned, hips bucking.

Stiles went to pull his hand away but Derek grabbed onto his wrist with his free one, putting it back and forming his fingers so he was still cupping Derek, squeezing at the base. Derek trembled all over, breathing out a shaky gasp, head falling forward to rest on Stiles' forehead as his eyes drifted closed.

“Please,” he sighed out, swallowing hard. “Please.”

The omega nodded, scratching the back of his head with his free hand. He held on to his Mate's knot with his hand, squeezed his walls around his fingers once more, and let them both drift off in their afterglow.


	17. The Video.

It wasn't what Stiles wanted to wake up to the morning after his first real sexual experience. But it was Stiles and it was his life, so of course it was happening.

He woke up on his stomach, still naked, sheet and comforter both pulled up to his shoulders. Because the other side of the bed was empty and cold and so very Derek-free and what the fuck?

Blearily he opened his eyes, head turned in the direction of the bathroom, soon finding the alpha in question fully dressed and standing by his open closet as he grabbed a set of handcuffs out a safe.

“Don't suppose you're getting those for round two?” he quipped, voice rough from sleep and other activities, joking to cover up the hurt he was feeling over being _walked out on_ after fooling around with his _Mate_.

Talk about an ego blow.

Derek peered over at him with a cocked eyebrow, wordlessly asking if he was serious, before turning back to the safe, cuffs now tucked into their designated holster at the back of his left hip.

With a sigh, Stiles flopped over onto his back, freeing his arms from the covers as he took in the other male. It was totally unfair that Derek still looked completely perfect and put together after what had happened. Okay, yeah, so they'd both showered after, the alpha paranoid that they'd smell _too_ much like one another to the point where their lie wouldn't work anymore. But still. His hair was perfectly coiffed, whiskers trimmed, uniform neat—not quite perfectly pressed, but neat nonetheless. It was like nothing had gone on between them.

Probably what he wanted really.

A frown formed on Stiles' face as he watched Derek withdraw his gun from the safe, checking the magazine, racking the slide to check the extra round already in the chamber. He was fully dressed, almost ready for work. He'd covered Stiles up with both the sheet and comforter knowing that as an omega, he was most likely gonna get cold without an alpha around to keep him warm. He'd already eaten breakfast, judging by the scents of coffee, bacon, and eggs Stiles caught in the air. He was fucking bailing.

“Ya know,” he began, peering down at himself as he played with the edge of the very fluffy and warm comforter—another reason to be jealous of his twin's life because _damn_ was that the nicest duvet he'd ever felt. “When someone's sneaking out after a regretted one night stand, it's usually not out of their own home.”

“I gotta go to work for a few hours,” the alpha responded flatly, sliding the gun into its own holster on his belt by his right hip before grabbing a second, smaller pistol and giving it the same check. “Figured you'd appreciate the sleep.”

Stiles' frown deepened, this time in confusion, and he sat up in bed, the covers falling onto his lap, watching as Derek slipped the smaller firearm into a holster around his left ankle. “Work? Thought Laura was handling the case?”

“She is.” The safe was closed, beeping as the locks engaged, before he slid the louver door into place. “But I need to be there when this guy shows to try and remove that 'two-thirteen' code from the system and I need to make arrangements for the pyre later tonight.”

The omega swallowed hard as he slumped back against the wall, fingers clutching onto the covers. He'd completely forgotten, had totally lost track of the moon and its cycle. Thank fuck it wasn't a full one and he hadn't shifted on accident. But still, it wasn't good to lose track of where they were in the cycle, what was going on with the moon and how it correlated to the wolf.

Because that meant he was caught completely off-guard with the realization that it was the night of the New Moon, and therefore the night funeral pyres were held.

He stared blankly at the mounds of covers he was pretty sure were his toes, heart sinking and wolf whimpering. Was it really so soon? Was he really gonna have to say goodbye to his brother that night? Was he really gonna have to watch him turn to ash as they all paid tribute to his memory? Fuck, he wasn't ready, wasn't prepared, wasn't...

“Stiles?”

He jerked his head up, noting the concerned look on the alpha's face as he slowly stepped closer. It was only then that he became aware that his breathing had become heavier, that he was shaking all over, that his heart was pounding, that his knuckles were the same color as the comforter he was clutching. He took a few controlled, measured breaths, calmed himself down, relaxed his body. It was okay, _he_ was okay. Wasn't like he hadn't gone to a funeral pyre before, wasn't like he hadn't watched a family member burn before.

But that hadn't been his twin.

Derek sank down on the bed beside him, not touching, but close enough so that Stiles could feel his body heat and inhale his scent with every breath. It went a long way to calm him further, and he managed a shaky smile to try and ease the concern still etched into hard lines on the alpha's face.

The older man didn't seem to believe him, scratching at his whiskered jaw as his lips twisted in thought. “You could come to work with me if you wanted,” he offered, gesturing with his hand at nothing in particular. “You might be kinda bored though. But Lydia might be there with Parrish. Rumor has it they've been inseparable since you guys came to town.” He put on a small grin of his own, breathing out a laugh through his nose, trying to lighten things up.

Stiles furrowed his brow as he thought about it. Going with Derek would give him a shot at rooting around his office for clues, maybe even checking out that timeline board again, possibly even follow Jackson's lead about the mysterious phone call. But then he remembered how he'd had that same idea the day before, only to squash it when he realized there were too many people and ears around and that he'd be busted within moments. Hardly worth it.

Wringing the back of his neck, he remembered what else had happened at the S-Dub HQ, Stu's coded message leading him to those flashdrives he never got a chance to check out. It was the perfect opportunity to do just that, no risk of Derek popping in or overhearing a potential video or audio file. It was also a good time to snoop around the master bedroom—not that he honestly thought he'd find anything, given the little amount of personal items in it—since his scent was already in it now.

Dropping his hand onto his lap, he shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. Think I'm just gonna stay here and wash those sheets like I owe ya,” he stated with a wince, not really lying. He was gonna do the laundry. Just, that wasn't _all_ he was gonna do.

Derek nodded, head ducked, chewing on his bottom lip. Worry was the dominant emotion in his scent and it made Stiles' wolf ill at ease, the human part of him shuffling in his seat. “How, uh,” the alpha began then paused, lifting his head to stare straight ahead at the armchair tucked in the corner. “Are you leaving town after the funeral?” he rasped, wincing slightly.

Stiles' brows raised at the question and he scratched at his forehead with a finger. “I honestly don't know,” he admitted, shrugging, noting how Derek seemed to relax and the worry left his scent at that. “There was never any real plan when we decided to come here, other than 'find Stu'. I wanna at least stay until the killer is found. If that's okay.” He added the last part in a hurry, shaking his hands in front of his body, not wanting to overstay his welcome or seem like he was taking advantage of anyone's hospitality.

The older man turned his head to him, small smile on his face. The worry was almost nonexistent at that point, but a small note of melancholy was still there. Not that Stiles could really blame him. He carried the same thing around when he thought of Derek, of how their time together had a limit neither of them was fully aware of.

Sometimes it was better to just ignore it and pretend it didn't exist, go about your business like nothing was wrong.

Ignore the problem until it goes away.

Or until he pops up outta nowhere and fucking blindsides you as things suddenly ended without warning.

Right. Ignoring seemed _way_ better at that point.

Rising to his feet, Derek adjusted his belt around his waist and peered down at the other man. “I should be back by mid-afternoon. My cell and work numbers are on the fridge if you need 'em. And don't forget that anything in the house is yours.”

Stiles nodded, giving him a small smile, secretly ready to take him up on that offer and use the MacBook in the office that was technically Stu's.

Leaning down, Derek kissed him chastely on the forehead before leaving the room. Boots slipped on by the door and keys grabbed from their spot, he left the house, doors automatically locking behind him.

Stiles waited until he couldn't hear the Toyota anymore before shoving the comforter back and getting out of bed. His first thought was clothes, since he was very much without any and the boxers he'd had on the night before were pretty much ruined. Trekking across the house was an idea, one he wasn't entirely sure he was cool with. But there were no neighbors and Derek would've warned him if anyone was stopping by. Plus he could hear if someone was close...

With a shrug and a mental “fuck it”, he braved the cold air of the house and lightly jogged his way to the office-slash-guest room to get some clean clothes.

Soon dressed in a pair of jeans, faded _Han Shot First_ tee, and red flannel, he made his way across the house to the laundry room, flipping on the light as he entered. A bundle of white sheets had been thrown on top of the light blue _Star Wars_ ones he'd borrowed, obviously having been done on purpose. He quirked an eyebrow at that before shrugging it off, figuring it was an alpha thing, either remarking his territory on those sheets, or trying to cover up the smell of unclaimed omega.

Or a third option, he'd been trying to blend their scents together without being obvious.

A small grin formed on his face and he set to work, noting the fancy high efficiency washer and dryer set and letting out an impressed whistle. His machines back home weren't even the same brand. Or even name brand.

They were—thankfully—fairly easy to figure out and he soon had all the sheets going through a cycle, figuring he was safe given how old and faded the _Star Wars_ ones were. With nothing more to do at that moment, he headed into the kitchen in search of breakfast.

Coffee was made first and he checked out the calendar page on the front of the fridge as it brewed. Derek and Stu were pretty much always scheduled to work together and worked a typical nine to five day, meaning Stu was always there when that code was cued to go off. He'd put it in as a fail safe, Stiles figured, something that would occur should anything bad happen to him, insurance in a way.

Good thing they never really got sick.

Although really they were both at risk for inheriting their mother's illness. Then again that fail safe might come in handy for that. Stu comes down with dementia, his thoughts are jumbled, can't tell reality from hallucinations. If he has proof of something—which he clearly must, hence the two flashdrives—he'd want it kept safe, he'd want it on record so no one thought it was a delusion.

Stiles rubbed the middle of his chest as he thought of his mom, her adamant belief that someone was after her. She'd even accused Stu of being in league with them and had gone to attack him, one of her worser episodes. Stiles didn't think his brother remembered it, it'd been that awful. He didn't think he'd ever forget.

He shoved all that aside, finishing making his coffee, focusing on the most important meal of the day. He sipped on the hot and yummy as he looked through the cabinets, stopping dead when he found a particular box in one clearly designated for snacks.

Toaster Pastries.

Not name brand Pop Tarts. But _Toaster Pastries_.

Okay, he wasn't dumb. He knew they were just as likely to be Stu's as they were Derek's and there was every possibility that a small, closed off town like Oak Creek would only have generic brand items in their store.

But still.

He shoved all that aside, flat out refused to see the parallels, focusing instead on grabbing a pack of chocolate fudge and settling at the island counter to eat. After breakfast, he started up the dishwasher, ignoring how incredibly fucking domestic it all seemed with the omega doing the housework and the alpha off to make a paycheck, then made himself another coffee before finally heading back into the office-slash-guest room.

After digging the flashdrives out of his duffel, he set up shop at his brother's desk. The MacBook came to life almost immediately, once again prompting him for a password, and on a whim, he typed in the same code from the S-Dubs' system.

" _37-14-41-42_ "

Taking a deep breath, he hit _enter_ and hoped for the best.

" _Welcome, Stuart._ "

Oh fuck yes.

The main desktop loaded on the screen, the background a photo of the _Enterprise_ 's bridge from the reboot movies, all bright white and shiny chrome, no lens flare to be found—thank god. He ignored the plethora of icons and the connecting wifi, finding a USB port and sliding the first flashdrive into place. Using the finger pad, he clicked to open it, finding only one file, a video labeled " _For MS_ ".

Because of fucking course Stu would use his birth initials. He always did, claiming he had dibs on "SS", since neither of them had a middle name to differentiate which SS was which.

Muttering a few obscenities his twin's direction, he clicked to open it, watching as the media player took over the screen, his breath catching in his throat at the still image. Stu was sitting right where Stiles was, dressed in a yellow " _Star Fleet Academy_ " tee and black cardigan, matching beanie on his head, a tuft of brown hair sticking out the front of it. His usual thick rim glasses were on but did nothing to hide the heavy bags under his chocolate eyes or the fact that his skin looked more pale and sallow than it had been two years ago.

Stiles felt a lump form in his throat, a trembling hand moving to click the play button and bring the still image to life. On screen, Stu took a deep breath and sighed it out harshly, clearing his throat as he shuffled in his seat. Two years. It'd been two years since he'd seen his brother, seen him _alive_ and moving and talking and _breathing_. Yet there he was, doing all those things in video form.

Resting his elbow on the arm of the chair, he covered his mouth, watching almost in disbelief as Stu looked right at the camera, a sad sort of smile pulling up the corners of his lips.

" _Hey, bro_."

His eyes closed at that, fighting back tears. It'd been so long since he'd actually heard his twin's voice. Despite everyone's insistences that they sounded exactly alike, to Stiles, it just wasn't the same.

Worst part of it all was how no one seemed to understand that.

Reopening his eyes, he watched as Stu's smile turned sardonic and he cocked an eyebrow at the camera.

" _And yes, I know it's you that's watching this. After the clues I left—or am planning to leave as of this moment—only you'd be able to figure them out. And since you found this, it means that I'm dead, otherwise I'd be telling you all this shit face-to-face._ "

Stiles swallowed hard, absolutely hating the fact that his brother had been so resigned over the ending of his life, had been so convinced that it was an inevitable thing that he'd thought ahead and left a video message and a trail of clues. It was no way to live and the anger he felt at the alpha who'd been stalking Stu doubled.

" _I owe you an apology for_." He paused, seesawed his head as though considering something before wincing. " _For a lotta shit really. I just. I lied to you. I mean, I lied to a lotta folks around here, practically the entire town, but you most importantly._ " He sighed as he glanced around the room, bending over to rest his elbows on his knees, fingers tangling together below the shot judging by the play of muscles beneath a cardigan that seemed to fit a little tighter.

" _The day after our sixteenth_ ," he went on, voice rough. " _I lied to you and I said that I didn't have a Dream._ "

"Dick," Stiles found himself muttering before refocusing on his brother's words.

" _I guess a small part of it was a pride thing, ya know? Not wanting to admit I was wrong and you were right, but._ " He turned to the side, jaw clenching as his leg shook under the shot. Tension had taken over his entire frame and Stiles watched as Stu swallowed hard, as a shaky hand reached up and began wringing the back of his neck. When he turned back, it was with a brow pulled in worry and lips pressed tightly together in fear. " _You know how they say you can tell what a person is like in those Dreams? How you can get a feel for their persona, their aura, their soul? I felt it and. And it wasn't anything good._ "

He ducked his head and shook it, body still trembling, and Stiles wanted nothing more than to climb through the screen and wrap his brother up in a tight embrace, to comfort him as he held him close, to protect him against this asshole who'd been terrorizing him during what was supposed to be peaceful rest.

But he couldn't. All he could do was trace his twin's arm with his finger on the screen.

" _This alpha,_ " Stu picked up where he left off, voice thick, shaky. " _He was brutal, violent, controlling. It freaked me out, ya know?_ " He lifted his head, giving Stiles a good look at the terror on his pale face, his wolf whimpering inside his head. " _Our entire lives we've been told that our Dreams are these erotic things, full of passion and love. But this? This was a, a, a claiming. It wasn't passionate or loving at all; it was possessive and aggressive and. And I got scared. But I didn't wanna ruin your good mood or anything so—_ " He ended with a shrug.

Stiles snorted, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms over his torso. "Kinda did anyway, bro," he muttered, momentarily forgetting his twin wasn't around to hear it.

On the screen, Stu huffed out a laugh of his own, head rocking with the action, sheepish grin forming on his face. " _Guess I kinda did anyway, huh? Sorry 'bout that._ "

Stiles cocked an eyebrow but said nothing, watching as Stu straightened up and cleared his throat, ridding it of the rasp that had been building in his voice.

" _Guess what I really mean is that I didn't wanna bring down your good mood any further than I already had or completely erase the joy you were feeling by dragging you into my bullshit drama or whatever, so I lied. I knew you wouldn't let it go if I didn't. Just seemed easier on both of us to claim I'd been Dream-less. Probably why I lied to Derek about that, too._ "

Both of Stiles' eyebrows shot up at that. He'd had no clue that Derek believed Stu was Dream-less, had no clue about their Mating at all really. Their relationship got more curious the more he looked at it and learned about it.

Stu shrugged again, lips turning up into a grin of sorts, hope lighting up his face and his voice as he went on. " _But just because you have a Mate and you Dream about them, doesn't mean you end up together, right?_ "

Stiles snorted. His brother had no idea.

" _So I thought I was safe, thought I'd be okay._ " His face fell and Stiles got the sinking feeling that he wasn't gonna like what came next. " _But then I met the guy somewhere, somehow, I don't even know, and the Dreams became more violent, more brutal. I could_ hear _him threatening me now, not just feel it, and he._ " Stu stopped, swallowed hard, eyes shining behind thick black frames as his shaky hand rubbed under his nose. " _He was saying some pretty fucked up stuff about how I was gonna be his little bitch for him to dump his seed into and that my body was his to do whatever he wanted to, that I was nothing more than his property to fuck and fill and fuck more. And then he._ " He took a shaky breath before continuing, Stiles barely aware of his hands clenching into tight fists against his torso. " _He started threatening you and Dad._ "

Shit.

Stiles' heart stopped and dropped, remembering Lydia's theory of Stu's Mate doing just that, only it was to force him into a Mating he didn't want. Although it sounded like that had been the alpha's intent and they'd placed the blame on the wrong guy. But still, it was never a good feeling when your worse case scenario turned out to be the truth.

" _He said that if I didn't go to him and do_ exactly _what I was told like a good little omega, he'd come after you guys. So I ran, thinking you'd be safe and not get caught in the crossfire or something and I came to Oak Creek thinking it would be the best place to hide out in. And then I met Derek._ "

A small smile formed on Stu's face, but it wasn't the soft wistful kind Stiles usually saw on someone discussing the person they loved. It was fond, yeah, but not overly affectionate, not a dreamy look of someone in love and completely happy with their lot in life.

Not that Stu would be _completely_ happy, not when his True Mate was a violent possessive bastard threatening his family and causing him to run for his life, but there still should've been a little something more there when discussing Derek. A twinkle in the eye, a glow to the cheeks, a goofy dumbstruck expression like Scott got whenever anything Allison-related was brought up. But no. Stu looked like he was discussing a friend rather than a lover and someone he'd agreed to spend the rest of his life with.

Curious, Stiles folded his arms on the desk and leaned closer to the laptop as his brother continued.

" _He was the first person I met in Oak Creek and he was nice, understanding. I explained that I was being stalked and threatened by an alpha I didn't know—which technically isn't a lie,_ " he sidebarred, pointing a finger at the screen. " _I don't know the guy's name or who he is or where he's from or anything. But anyway_." He dropped his hand and sighed. " _Derek got it and he didn't judge me or think I was crazy or anything like that. Just promised to protect me and keep me safe, offered to let me stay at his place since I didn't really have anywhere to go. The fake Mating was all my idea though._ "

That had Stiles' eyebrows raising again. Okay, so he knew the Mating wasn't due to them being Fated or True Mates or whatever, but he'd at least thought they'd been in _love_. What the actual fuck?

He scowled at the screen, pissed at Stu, pissed at Derek, pissed at _everyone_ , even though they were the only two at fault.

Fuck everything though. Seriously.

He smeared a hand down his face as he focused on the screen, watching as his brother stared down at his tangling fingers below the shot, his voice meeker than it had been the entire time he'd been speaking.

" _I thought that if another alpha had a Claim on me, then the one from my Dreams would back off and leave me alone. But the Dreams kept coming and wouldn't stop, just got more violent, the alpha pissed that I was letting someone else use_ his _hole and mark_ his _territory with their scent. But still, I thought I'd be okay, thought I'd be safe._ " He peered up at the camera, grimacing. " _Guess I was wrong, otherwise you wouldn't be watching this._ "

Stiles grimaced at the reminder that the video he was currently watching wasn't real time, that his brother was dead and long gone. Resting his elbow on the arm of the chair once more, he placed his fingers on his lips, leg shaking up and down, tears pricking the back of his eyes. His wolf was whimpering in his head, a continuous low pitiful sound that only just added to the sorrow he was feeling. No one should be that certain, that affirmed that their death was coming soon—barring a terminal diagnosis from a doctor, of course. But Stu hadn't been told he was dying of a disease or had a mortal wound inflicted upon him. He just had a possessive asshole alpha as his True Mate, tormenting and stalking him.

On the screen, Stu sniffed then sat up straight again. Resolution hardened his features with a fierce sort of determination that was admirable and Stiles just knew that for all his twin's talk of being dead, he hadn't gone out willingly or without putting up a damn good fight.

" _This is an insurance policy of sorts,_ " he stated, rapping the knuckles of his left hand on the desk and scooting forward to the edge of his chair. " _Someone needs to know what I know, someone needs to know what this guy is up to. Because it's more than just me belonging to him in some fucked up archaic cavewolf way. He's after something much bigger, I dunno what, but his plans go_ way _beyond just Claiming and Mating me. He's._ " Stu stopped, inhaled shakily and blew it out slowly. His leg was shaking again as he scratched above his left eyebrow, eyes fixated at something off screen.

Stiles' own eyes looked in the same direction, only seeing the corner where two walls met, nothing special. Apparently Stu had just been trying to gather his thoughts, not point anything out. Damn.

Stu sighed again, drawing Stiles' attention back to the screen. " _He's evil, Stiles,_ " he declared, slight tremor in his raspy voice. " _There's nothing good about him. At all. And I'm pretty sure I'm onto something huge, something terrible that he's planning and he knows. He knows I'm figuring it out and I'm in more trouble and more danger than ever. I can't tell Derek any of this 'cause he'll take it over in an official capacity and I just. I need to solve this myself. But since I clearly couldn't or didn't or whatever, I need you to pick up where I left off and find this guy, okay? Not for any sorta bullshit justice for me or anything, but to stop whatever it is he's planning on doing and even for yourself and Dad. Because he'll come after you next. He won't care that I'm dead, he's gonna keep trying and nothing's gonna stop him but his own death._ " His voice grew stronger as he went on, becoming more and more full of conviction and a sense of being absolutely right. It was the same heated passion Stiles had witnessed during countless debates Stu had with practically everyone he knew, debates with Stiles himself. It was intense and it filled him with the same righteous anger, the same drive and determination to figure out what the alpha was doing and take him down.

The steam seemed to have left Stu though and his head hung once more, both hands gripping the back of his neck. " _Don't hate Derek, okay?_ " he asked softly, quietly, lifting his head just enough so Stiles could tell he was staring at his hands as they now dangled between his legs. " _He really_ is _a good alpha and a great guy. He's probably, no,_ definitely _is my best friend here in Oak Creek and we both know what shit I am at making friends._ " The corner of his lips twisted up in a wry grin, Stiles' own lips mirroring it, before his face grew serious once more. " _He's taken on a huge risk and a major life adjustment by Mating me. But he's good and kind and caring and I wake up every single day feeling so fucking guilty that I've stolen him from someone else._ "

Stiles swallowed hard and leaned back in his chair as Stu did the same on screen. The younger twin wrapped his arms around his torso, wondering how his brother would've reacted had he known who Derek's True Mate really was. Would he have stepped aside and let them be together? Or would he have begged Stiles to understand and play along with their charade?

Because that's what Derek and Stu's Mating was, a charade. It was blatantly obvious now and he honestly had no clue how no one seemed to really notice. Laura clearly smelled something fishy, judging by the suspicious look she had on her face in that photo. And Erica seemed to think something was up, but she never really looked at it too closely, wrote it off as Derek and Stu being weird. But no one else had really bothered to analyze or look at it closer. They just accepted it for what it was and believed when they were told it was love and possibly even True Mates.

There's no way Stu would've let that go for Stiles, no matter how guilty he felt.

" _I know he has a True Mate_ ," Stu continued on screen, twirling a small section of hair as it stuck out from the front of his beanie. " _I know he has Dreams, but whenever I ask him about it, he tells me to let it go, that it doesn't matter and he doesn't care._ "

Ouch.

Fucking ouch.

Okay, yeah, Derek was saying all this shit before they'd even met, much less fooled around, but still. Fucking ouch.

He pressed his lips into a hard line, turning his head to the right to stare with watery eyes at the closed closet door. His leg shook up and down more than ever, arms wrapping tighter around his torso to hold himself together. His wolf whined louder in his head and he struggled to shut it out, almost missing what Stu said next.

" _He told me he doesn't wanna meet the guy,_ " his twin went on and Stiles sniffed loudly in the otherwise quiet house. " _And that he has no plans of ever being with him or Mating him, and I believe him, but I still can't help but feel bad for this unknown guy I've unwittingly stolen Derek from. Just hope he understands and doesn't hate me._ "

Stiles swallowed hard as he shook his head vehemently. Yeah, he was jealous of his brother, yeah, he was upset with him because he'd taken Derek, had been with him and now Stiles couldn't be, not completely and not the way he wanted.

But he understood.

And he didn't hate Stuart for it.

" _Anyway_." Stu cleared his throat and Stiles sniffed, fighting back the tears as he returned his eyes and his attention to the screen. " _Yeah, don't be mad at him for lying, alright? He's lying to a lotta people, including his own family, and it's all because I asked him to. And I hope you don't hate me for lying to you, too, and for running. It was an idiotic, wayward plan to try and keep you and Dad safe. Telling him wasn't an option, I didn't want the alpha going after him, not when all he'd done at that point was threaten me in those Dreams and that's not a crime._ " He let out a sardonic laugh as he shook his head, licking his lips before continuing, staring right into the camera. " _I love you, bro. And I'm sorry, for everything. Tell Dad I love him, too, and try to make him understand, okay?_ " A sad smile pulled up one corner of his lips, left hand waving a goodbye. " _Golateby._ " He reached forward and laid his hand on the camera, obscuring half the shot as the video stopped, frozen on that image.

Lifting a trembling hand, he laid his palm over his twin's, free hand covering his mouth, tear rolling down his cheek. "Goodbye, Stuey," he whispered with a raspy voice, unable to close out the video just yet, unable to let his brother go.

Several long minutes later, the washing machine buzzed and he used it as an excuse to get his emotions back in control. He gathered up his dirty clothes and left the room, the video still up and taking over the screen. After a quick pitstop to the master bedroom where he gathered his clothes from the floor and even grabbed the hamper from where he sniffed it out in the closet, he got to work in the laundry room, moving the sheets to the dryer, sorting out the clothes, putting on a load of darks. He cried when he caught Stu's scent on some of the items, when he recognized familiar logos on graphic tees, when he found an old Spider-Man shirt of his own that he'd been looking for.

When he'd finally pulled himself back together, he went back into the office, settling in once more. He gave the video still one last glance before exiting out of it and removing the flashdrive, immediately clicking the second one into place. His mind was in investigative mode, all emotions shoved aside and ignored. He needed to find out what his brother knew, what he'd been on to, what he wanted Stiles to finish for him.

The second flashdrive contained three folders marked " _Mom_ ", " _Family Tree_ ", and " _Nemeton_ ", all of which made his brows raise. He had no idea what the hell his brother had stumbled upon, what the hell any of it had to do with a stalker alpha.

Although staring blankly at file icons wasn't gonna fucking help.

Cupping his chin, elbow on the desk, he clicked to open each one individually, finding even more folders, countless files, mostly images, scans, things printscreened from web pages. A few were word docs, copy and pasted info with the sites they'd come from. All of it was very neat, very organized, very _Stuart_ , but Stiles was having a hard time finding any correlation between any of it, much less understanding what it had to do with the alpha or Stu's death.

Shooting up to his feet, he went on the hunt for a printer, knowing there was really only one way he'd be able to keep all this crap straight.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Five-twenty found Stiles in the laundry room, slipping the last pair of pressed pants onto a hanger as the front door opened. He'd somehow managed to get all the laundry done, in between printing and sorting all the info Stu had left for him, putting it all away in the proper places. Except for the underwear because apparently his brother had joined Team Boxer-Briefs and he honestly had no idea what pairs belonged to who so he just left them all in a stack on the chair in the master bedroom.

Derek entered the room as he was hooking the hanger on the metal rod that sat just below a shelf, adding the pants to the other half dozen he'd washed, dried, and pressed, all of them grouped with Derek's work shirts—at least he was assuming they were Derek's, given the size. The alpha gave an impressed pout, inspecting the shirts with both his eyes and his hands.

“You starched these?” he questioned, fingers sliding along the crisp collar. “Stu could never get it right. He either didn't use enough and everything stayed wrinkled, or he'd use too much and it was like wearing paper all day.”

Stiles chanced a look at him, hearing his wolf grumble in the back of his head. He'd been so caught up in what he'd been doing all day that he'd completely forgotten about what Stu had claimed Derek had told him about his True Mate, how he never wanted to meet, much less Mate, the guy. The earlier hurt came back, stabbing him in his hollow chest, as memories of that video, of what he'd learned, swirled in his head.

Turning away, he shrugged, stepping back from the clothing. “I do my dad's work shirts all the time,” he murmured, folding his arms over his chest. Out the corner of his eye, he noticed the other man opening his mouth to say something, but he cut him off before he got the chance to utter a syllable. “Did you ever really love Stu?”

Derek's head snapped to him, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. He'd clearly been caught off guard, small choked off noises escaping past his lips as he struggled to respond. After a moment, he shut his mouth with an audible click, sighing through his nose as he fully faced the younger man, folding his own arms over his black tactical shirt. “No,” he admitted flatly. “Not in that way, more of as a friend.”

A disbelieving snort left him and he shook his head dubiously. “How can you Mate a _friend_?” he questioned harshly, turning the full force of his scowl on the alpha. “How can you agree to spend the rest of your life with them, Bite them, exchange vows? How can you repeatedly sleep with them and knot them and mark them all while knowing it was a lie and that your _True Mate_ was out there somewhere?”

Shame was the predominant emotion in his scent, along with an undercurrent of regret and Stiles had to fight off a smug smile, knowing he was fucking right and Derek was pretty much admitting it.

“Friends sleep with friends all the time,” the alpha pointed out, weakly, knowing it wasn't much of an argument.

Another snort. “Yeah, in a no-strings sorta way.”

“It was for Stu's protection, okay?” Derek admitted loudly, arm flying to the side to gesture at someone who wasn't there, wasn't ever gonna be there. “The marking, the knotting, the scenting, it was all to keep him safe.”

Stiles swallowed hard, remembering why exactly it was that his brother had needed to be protected in the first place. “From the stalker alpha,” he added on, using only the info Derek had given him.

The aggression seemed to be drained out of the older man as well, his arm dropping to his side. “Yeah,” he said softly, brow furrowing in upset. “I know it was wrong to lie to everyone, but we did it for Stu and his protection. Helping each other out with—” He winced, seesawing his head in consideration. “Certain _urges_ and our heats was just a bonus of sorts.”

Well, that was a thought and an image he didn't need in his head.

Yet there it was, playing out for him, Derek knotting Stuart, Stuart begging Derek to fill him, the two of them locked together because Derek didn't have to hide his relationship with Stuart or pretend they weren't actually attracted to one another sexually.

Fuck, he might be sick.

Instead, Stiles focused on the anger he was feeling, at the lack of choice he'd been given, at the fact that Derek had done all this without ever taking his feelings or his wants into consideration. He'd just been written off as a non-factor.

And, okay, yeah, they hadn't met, Derek hadn't known who his True Mate was. At that point, Stiles was nothing more than a nameless, faceless stranger who popped up in a sex dream once a month or so—a bit more frequently when he was at school due to the closer proximity. But it was still fucked up and rude and very fucking self-centered.

Jaw working in anger, he glared more at the older man, fists clenching between his torso and folded arms. “Well, it's good thing you had Stu for all those heats, since you don't have a True Mate to help with that,” he snarked before sarcastically smiling wide. “Oh wait! You actually did. You just didn't want to be with him.” Point made, he went back to glaring, leg shaking in aggravation.

Derek's brow pulled together and his lip curled up on one side in confusion, head rapidly shaking as though to clear it. “Whoa, what? What are you talking about?” he questioned, sounding genuinely perplexed.

“I know you told Stu that you didn't even wanna meet me, much less be my Mate,” he clarified, anger still coloring his tone and scent. “Sorry for being such an inconvenience and throwing a kink into your plan, but don't worry. I'll leave tomorrow and you won't have to worry about me or being Mated to anyone.” Throwing a hand in the other man's direction in dismissal, he stepped forward, readying himself to leave the room, only to have Derek move right in his way and stop him.

“I'll admit it, okay, that yes, in the beginning when I first started having those Dreams, I didn't wanna meet my Mate,” Derek stated, putting his hands up when Stiles huffed and tried to step around him. “But it's not because I didn't care about you or whoever my Mate might've been. I just knew you'd be better off without me.”

The younger man let out another disbelieving laugh, head shaking as his arms crossed once more. “So, what? I don't get a choice or a say in anything? I'm just supposed to be the good little omega and go along with whatever the alpha planned, with zero regard to my own personal opinion or wants? That's pretty fucked up, Der.”

“I know, okay? I know. And I'm sorry,” he replied lowly, genuinely, eyes pleading with Stiles for...something Stiles couldn't quite figure out.

If he even wanted to figure it out. Which he wasn't entirely sure he did.

“I just,” Stiles started then paused, turning his head to glance around the room for a long moment before finally looking back at the alpha. “I don't get how you can agree to Mate Stuart if you knew your _True_ Mate was out there and that you'd never be truly happy.”

Derek's features flattened into an expressionless mask and he shrugged his shoulders as he shook his head. “Because I don't deserve happiness,” he said plainly, continuing on before Stiles got a chance to question him or argue or even have a thought beyond “what in the actual fuck?!” “When Stuart explained his situation with the stalker alpha and suggested his plan for us to get Mated in order to throw the alpha off, I figured it'd be all right. Stu was close enough in body type to match my True Mate and I thought maybe I could fool my wolf into being satisfied with what we had. And while what we'd had wasn't one-hundred percent perfect, it was still good and we were happy.” He seesawed his head, wincing slightly before adding on. “When we weren't having Dreams and being reminded of the truth about our situation anyway.”

Tears welled in Stiles' eyes but he refused to let them fall, refused to be that weak ass little omega bawling like a baby over an alpha. It wasn't who he was, who he had been, and wasn't who he was going to be. Biting his lower lip, he ducked his head and shook it, arms moving so they were holding him together rather than displaying any sort of anger or intimidation. “S'not fair,” he murmured. “I never got a say. I'd been waiting for years to find you and you just didn't want me.” He sniffed, catching the scent of remorse and upset and apology and regret.

“I know,” Derek whispered thickly. “And I'm sorry. It's easy to have this plan of never meeting your True Mate when that person is just a broad concept, a faceless nobody who you Dream about every now and then. It's way different and much more difficult when they're real and alive and standing in front of you with their heart breaking and it's all your fault.”

He closed his eyes tightly, refusing to admit his heart was breaking. But it was. He could feel it fracturing in his hollow chest, feel the sting of rejection piercing him all over, pricking at his skin and chilling him to the bone. It wasn't until then that he realized he'd never even had his heart broken like that. Sure, he'd felt the cold burn of unrequited feelings and had learned why they were called “crushes”—mainly all thanks to Lydia—but it was never on the level that it was at that moment, that soul deep wound he knew he wouldn't recover from.

The alpha cleared his throat as he rocked back on his heels, the rasp of his whiskers as he scratched at his jaw filling the room. “How, uh. How'd you even find out about that?”

Sniffing once more, he lifted his head, pressing his lips into a hard line. “Stu,” he began then paused, clearing his own throat of the emotional lump trying to choke him. “Stu left me a couple flashdrives. One had a video he recorded on it, talking about the stalker alpha and his Mating to you.”

The tips of the older man's ears went red and his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Can. Can I see it?”

He nodded, agreeing, but not for Derek. But for himself, for Stu. Having another set of eyes and a brain helping with the case wouldn't hurt, especially when they belonged to someone with more access than he had, an inside knowledge of the town, and wanted to catch the bastard just as bad as he did.

“But I wanna show you what else Stu left first.”

Derek frowned in confusion at that, but didn't say anything, simply following Stiles out the laundry room and into the office-slash-guest room.

Where he said something.

“What the—?”

Stiles cleared his throat as he stood in the middle of the room awkwardly, scratching his forehead with a finger. “Yeeeeah,” he stretched the word out. “I've been busy today.”

“No shit,” Derek snorted, stepping further into the room and turning a full three-sixty to take it all in.

The walls were practically covered with countless pages of things he'd printed off, all organized in his own system. 'Course he'd taped it all up, not wanting to cover someone else's walls in holes, but it worked out pretty damn well. He'd taken a couple highlighters he'd found in a drawer and marked things he thought were important with green, things worth further digging in yellow, things he wasn't entirely sure about in pink.

There was a lot of pink.

Some pages were almost blinding really.

Vibrating his lips and making a sound almost like a motor, he winced as he took it all in, _really_ took it all in for the first time that day. “I'll pay you back for the tape,” he promised, gesturing to the room before resting his hand on top of his head. “And the paper. And the ink.” He winced at that last one. Ink was fucking expensive and of course they had some fancy ass multi-use high end big name printer. He was so broke.

Derek waved a hand at him as he continued looking around himself dumbfounded, mouth hanging open, eyes wider than normal. “I get it discounted through work.”

Stiles frowned at that. Why the hell couldn't his own dad just swipe office supplies like that? He'd given Stiles a dirty look for stealing a damn paperclip for a school report.

“What is all this?” the older man asked, finally stopping his turning around—guy had to be really fucking dizzy at that point—and facing Stiles, puzzled look on his face.

The omega gestured with his arms open. “This. Is what was on the second flashdrive Stu had,” he stated, dropping his arms to put his hands on his hips, sighing slightly. “He said he was on to something big, some nefarious plan that stalker alpha had concocted. He just didn't get a chance to fully put it together.”

Derek slowly nodded once, scents shifting so fast they couldn't be kept up with much less identified. Scratching his jaw, he turned to the bookshelves, eyebrows momentarily lifting as he noted all the papers taped to the wood shelves and even on some of the actual books. Stiles hoped like hell those would come off without any damage. “Have you figured it out?”

“Nope,” he replied honestly, popping the “p”, peering around as he scratched his head. “I haven't a damn clue.”

More nodding, before the alpha gestured to him with an open palm. “Mind explaining it all to me.”

He jerked slightly, realizing he'd totally spaced and that not everyone would understand all of the jumbled papers. “Right, yeah, totally.” He strode over to the wall next to the folded-up couch, Derek following, waving a hand over it all. “This is all stuff related to my mom's illness and her death.” Derek turned to him at that, eyebrow quirked before facing the wall again. “It's got copies of all her medical reports, notes from her doctors about her symptoms and any incidences from her hospital stays.”

“Incidences?”

Stiles swallowed, licking his lips as he nodded. “Mom had frontotemporal dementia. It's when parts of your brain atrophy and die. It causes vivid hallucinations and made her extremely paranoid,” he explained weakly, tapping his finger on one page, the type highlighted green. “Like this. She was convinced someone was after her, completely adamant about it to the point of violence.”

The older man's head reared back and his eyebrows momentarily shot up in surprise, but other than that he didn't comment, so he went on.

“There's also ME reports from her death after her car crashed into a wall and she was killed,” he stated as he tapped that paper, clearing his throat. “And then there's this.” He placed his finger on another page. “Her discharge papers from her last hospital stay.”

“You highlighted it green,” Derek pointed out, the question going unspoken.

“Green means it's important,” he explained. “See, my mom had been admitted after attacking my brother for conspiring with whoever it was she believed to be after her, as well as more migraines and terrible parasomnia. The way the doctors explained it to us, it was one of those making her comfortable until the end kind of stays.” He wrapped his arms around his torso to fight off the chill he was feeling and to hold himself together. Talking about his mom was always hard. Add in a recently deceased brother and it was kind of a miracle he wasn't in Oak Creek General after a major mental breakdown. Or a panic attack. Or both.

Derek stepped closer to him, noting his distress and chilliness, lending both comfort and warmth while still respectfully not touching him. “So someone discharged your mom when she wasn't supposed to be?”

“Exactly,” Stiles agreed, pointing to the doctor's signature. “See that? It's a forgery. You can see the criminal tremor in the loop there and there and in the dot over the 'I'.”

A smirk formed on the S-Dub's face and he questioned it. “Nothing. Just. You never really hear a civilian use phrases like 'criminal tremor'.”

“Cop's kid,” he reminded the older man. “And a criminal justice major.”

Derek cocked an eyebrow at that. “Where at?”

“Stanford.”

Both eyebrows went up, his grin growing, thoroughly impressed. “Very nice.”

Stiles felt his face heat up as he flushed, clearing his throat and wringing the back of his neck before changing the subject. Twenty years later and he still couldn't take a damn compliment to save his life. “Anyway,” he began, getting back to it. “We'd all been under the impression that her accident was just that. She wasn't supposed to be driving anyway, had her license revoked when she'd tried to chase down a hallucination and we knew her disease was getting worse. So we all figured it was just another case of that, only this time, she chased it right into a wall. But it's possible that the whole thing was a set-up and Stu was trying to figure it out.”

The alpha frowned. “Why would anyone wanna kill your mom?”

He shrugged, gesturing helplessly to the wall before scratching the back of his neck. “Not entirely sure. But those pages over there—” He pointed to the wall of bookshelves and the pages taped there. “Is stuff about my family history. Only it's in Polish and I started going cross-eyed as I tried to translate it.”

“So you think your mom was killed due to some deep dark secret hidden in your family's past?” Derek questioned, somewhat dubiously, cocking an eyebrow at the younger man.

Stiles shrugged again. “Stu seemed to think so, yeah.”

More nodding before the alpha stepped away, heading across the room to his desk. “What's all this stuff?”

He quickly joined him, looking over it all. “It's stuff about something called a Nemeton,” he began, pointing to a printed off drawing of a giant tree. He took in the pages of info, some of it looking like scans of old books, the photos and the drawings, sketches of five-fold-knots and other Celtic symbols he only halfway recognized. “It's a type of tree, one worshiped by Druids and believed to be magic. Lore says that if someone were to perform certain ritualistic sacrifices, they'd be granted incredible power and be practically unstoppable.”

Derek's head snapped to him, his eyes wide. “Sacrifices? Like, killing people?”

He nodded. “Three virgins, three warriors, three healers, three philosophers, and three guardians.”

The alpha snorted. “Lovely,” he deadpanned.

“Oh yeah, great fun,” Stiles added just as drily. “No clue what any of this means, by the way, just that apparently such a tree exists on the outskirts of our hometown.” He put his finger on its approximate location on a map of Beacon County before gesturing to it. “Or at least it used to. Some of this info says it was cut down and is now nothing but a giant stump. Rumor has it that it doesn't even work anymore.”

“If it even worked in the first place,” Derek commented, eyes flicking about all the pages. “All of this could just be fantasy and folklore passed down through the generations, getting warped and blown up by each storyteller. Chances are it's all a bunch of hoopla and fairy tale hocus pocus bullshit.”

Stiles conceded the point with the bob of a head. “True. But as a virgin of Beacon Hills, I'm rather hopeful no one tries to jumpstart it.”

The alpha's eyes flashed red and once again, he turned away, heading to the third and final wall above Stu's desk. Rather than print outs though, this one was covered in Stiles' notes about Stu's death, including new pages he'd written in English after having watching the video on the flashdrive, taped to the wall and the blinds. He scuffed his way over, wringing the back of his neck, stopping on Derek's left like he had been the whole time.

“This is all stuff about Stu,” he unnecessarily pointed out, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Green eyes roamed the space, frown deepening with each page they scanned before he huffed in annoyance and crossed his arms. “I can't read most of this. It's all in gibberish.”

Stiles winced at that, almost apologetic. Because he didn't entirely regret not writing his initial notes in English, but he did feel bad that Derek had no idea what the hell was up on his wall. “Yeeeah,” he stretched the word out once again, slouching for a moment then popping back up straight. “It's a secret language.”

The confusion grew, the older man sneering, before realization dawned on him and his features relaxed, head slowly nodding once. “Twin speak,” he stated rather than asked, more than likely having done the same thing with his own twin when they were kids. His eyes narrowed as he seemed to think further on it, lips pursing slightly before turning to the younger man in confusion. “That email you said you got from Stu on his last day that you claimed was all in gibberish and that message on the computers yesterday? You've known this whole time what they said and you _lied_ to me about it.” Another statement, no questions, jaw clenching and eyes narrowing in anger now.

He refused to feel bad or guilty or remorseful, so he didn't. He simply turned and stood toe to toe with the larger man, looking him right in the eye, tipping his chin up to show he wasn't scared, wasn't intimidated, wasn't backing down. “I didn't know you and I didn't trust you, so yeah, I lied.” He shrugged to wrap it up, pointing out that it wasn't a big deal and there was no point to further argue it.

Eyebrows bobbed in concession, the alpha dropping his arms and adopting a more relaxed posture. “Do you trust me now?” he genuinely asked, scent almost reluctant, afraid of the answer.

He gestured around the room with open arms. “I showed you all this, didn't I?” he asked rhetorically, dropping his arms. “But yeah, I do. I know you didn't kill Stu and I know you're a good guy.”

A muscle in Derek's jaw ticked as he clenched it, eyes turning down at the corners, lips a hard line. But he didn't smell angry, just...like he didn't agree for some reason. Once again, he didn't give any chance to be questioned or for Stiles to figure out what exactly was going on, slipping his phone out his pocket and checking the screen.

“We actually need to get going soon,” he stated, sliding his phone back where it had been. “Laura's having a family dinner before the funeral, but I definitely wanna check all this out further.” He pointed around the room at everything then at Stiles, nodding once before heading to the door, only to stop when his name was called.

“You're not pissed, right?” Stiles double-checked, Stu's words in his head. “You aren't gonna tell me to back off and let the pros handle it, right?”

He sighed through his nose, shoulders slumping as he shook his head. “I'm a little pissed, but I get it. I'd do the same if it'd been Laura. But no, I'm not telling you to back off.” He stepped closer, an air of authority rolling off him, determination hardening his features and tensing up his muscles. “You and I are gonna conduct our own investigation, Laura be damned. We both owe it to Stu.”

A smile slowly spread across his face as relief flooded his body, followed by a determination of his own. With a final nod of the head, he stepped over to Derek, stopping right before him. “One problem though: I don't have any black clothes for tonight.”


	18. The Pyre.

They rode in the Toyota up to what Derek referred to as "the main house". He explained that they'd all grown up in it, that it was where his mom still lived with Cora, who would never admit it but was refusing to become independent and was enjoying being taken care of by their mother. Laura had her own place down another off-shoot of the main Hale Road and their Peter had a cabin down another one he'd use whenever he was actually in town. Malia lived within the town itself with Kira but frequently came to visit, both of them always a part of Sunday family dinners and special occasions.

The house itself was huge, colonial style with white wooden siding and forest green shutters to match the trees that surrounded it. A large porch spread across the front of the house, swing at one end, a couple rocking chairs to the other. As they pulled up and parked beside another SUV just like Derek's, Stiles could see lights shining through front windows and he peered inside to find warm green walls and burgundy furniture.

Slipping his seat belt off, Stiles peered around at his surroundings, hearing nothing but the sounds of the forest. He figured the trees had to go on for miles in every direction, that the house was as private as could be, which made sense. It was the State Alpha and her family. No other houses around meant they could easier hear a threat approach. And considering the attack, they were extra vigilant.

Turning to Derek, he watched as the engine was killed and the keys slipped out the ignition. He'd left his weapons at home and had changed into a pair of black jeans that did _everything_ for him and a v-neck of the same color, an off-duty outfit that was still the dark color they were expected to wear.

Glancing down at his own outfit, he took in his borrowed skinny jeans, a plain black tee he'd thankfully packed, and zip up hoodie he'd swiped from Stu's closet. Derek had offered a cardigan of his brother's but he'd immediately turned it down, not entirely sure if it was the one from the video but not wanting to chance it. It was too much.

Stiles followed Derek's lead and exited the car, the front door of the house opening as they did so. Laura waited for them by the top of the porch steps, dressed in black skinnies of her own and a blouse of the same color, dark hair hanging in curls past her shoulders. A soft smile was on her face as they approached, and she stepped to the side as they ascended the steps and paused beside her.

"Glad you guys made it," she commented warmly, green eyes focusing on Stiles. "And I wanted to apologize to you for yesterday, if I offended you or pissed you off keeping you out of S-Dub business."

Stiles waved her off before shoving his hands in his back pockets and shrugging. "No biggie," he replied honestly, keeping his voice light to show he wasn't all that upset about it. Hard to be when he had a room full of evidence back at Derek's place. "My dad's county sheriff so I'm constantly being told to leave when official police business is going on."

Which was true. He just left out the part where he listened in on private conversations anyway and was constantly snooping through classified files, his dad well-aware and pretty much having long since given up trying to get him to stop.

Except for that thing about the shady ass Meeting.

Shit, he'd barely spoken to his dad that day. He should probably text soon and let him know what was going on, make sure the old man was okay.

Laura nodded, casually folding her arms over her torso. "Sheriff of Beacon County, right?" she double-checked. "I think Derek mentioned you were from Beacon Hills?"

He nodded, curious furrow in his brow. "Yeah, why?"

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to make it sound like an interrogation," she apologized with a slight wince, friendly grin on her face. "I'm still trying to mentally write the speech I'm making before the pyre tonight."

Stiles felt his heart stop and sink to his stomach at the reminder of what was about to take place in only a couple hours. Turning to his right, he tried to check out the sky and see where the sun was, guesstimate how long it would be until it was dark and the pyre would be lit, but he couldn't see much of anything past the tall trees surrounding them. But the way his wolf was whining and yowling in his head, it wouldn't be all that long.

As if sensing his distress, Derek subtly shifted closer, and Stiles had to hold back on giving him a grateful smile so Laura wouldn't notice the sly move.

"I was actually wondering," she began, voice more cautious and lower than before, and he turned to see her repeatedly tucking her hair behind her ear, despite not a single strand being out of place. Nervous tic, he figured. "If you wanted to speak as well, since you're the twin of the one we're honoring?" She posed it as a question so there was no pressure on him to feel obligated and his brows raised in surprised.

"I, uh. I honestly hadn't even thought about it," he admitted, scratching at his forehead with a finger. Which was the truth, but he left out the part where the thought hadn't crossed his mind because he'd forgotten it was a New Moon and he'd spent the day elbows deep in laundry and evidence of something he hadn't entirely figured out but knew was important.

But now that he _was_ thinking about it, he still had no clue whether or not he wanted to do it. He hadn't spoken at his mother's funeral, had simply held Stu's hand as they both stood by their dad while he gave a few choked words before he couldn't speak any more. Stiles wasn't sure he was capable of it, of speaking in front of a bunch of strangers about the better half of him that was no longer around.

Shrugging, he let out a few choked noises, shaking his head helplessly.

"Sweetie, it's okay," Laura reassured him with a warm smile. "Just think about it and let me know later. No pressure."

A relieved breath left him and he smiled, nodding in agreement. He ignored Derek's curious glances and concerned scent, focusing on the man's sister as she told them to come on inside so Stiles could meet everyone.

Kira bounded over practically as soon as they entered the foyer, stairs bisecting the space, open archways on either side of it. She was beaming much as she had at the diner, excitedly greeting them and giving them enthusiastic hugs, something that caught Stiles off guard when he was enveloped by her tiny arms and her head pressed against his chest. But the whiff of omega he caught in her scent explained away her rebelling against traditional societal norms of not touching unclaimed omegas.

Malia followed behind her at a much more subdued rate, hair now in a short bob rather than the thick length it had been in the photo he'd seen of her, giving Derek a one armed hug and Stiles an up and down judgmental look. Until Kira smacked her arm and gave her an imploring expression that had her rolling her eyes and pulling the petite girl close.

"You know I gotta give the new guy hell, Kire. It's traditional," Malia explained with a smile, her Mate pouting until she got a kiss on the cheek. Turning back to Stiles, she gave him a much friendlier grin and a head bob. "Nice to meet you. And sorry for." She bobbed her eyebrows in a "ya know" fashion and he nodded, because he did know.

With a small smile of his own, he gave her a rough thanks before the door opened up behind them and two females walked in. He recognized one of them as Cora, still in the all-black tactical clothes of the S-Dubs, hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, narrowed brown eyes and flaring nostrils aimed Stiles' direction as she looked him all over and scented him.

He swallowed hard, heart pounding in his chest, worried that despite the two showers he'd taken since, he'd still be busted for fooling around with Derek.

"You must be Stiles," the second female spoke, drawing his attention. She was dressed in black jeans and a tank so tight they had to have been painted on, leather jacket zipped up to just under an ample chest, black boots and matching motorcycle helmet completing the look. Her hair was loosely curled and as she flicked it back over her shoulder, Stiles caught sight of three large scars running from her left cheek down her neck, marring her otherwise perfect cocoa skin.

"I'm Braeden," she introduced in a sexy rumble, lips curving up in an amused smirk as she took him in. "Heard a lot about you, kid."

Cora snorted and he turned to see her hanging a helmet of her own on a row of hooks for coats and jackets. "That's putting it lightly," she muttered sarcastically before turning to him with her arms folded, lips twisting to the side as she continued to visually inspect him. "You play cards?"

"Say no," both Laura and Derek instructed simultaneously, Stiles' head jerking back and forth between them.

Cora huffed, throwing her arms in the air before putting her hands in her hips. "What the fuck?"

"You cheat," Derek stated plainly, staring at her with narrowed green eyes, daring her to deny or argue.

"I do no—"

"Listening in on someone's heartbeat and scenting their chemosignals to tell when they're bluffing _is_ cheating, Core," Laura sighed out, pinching the bridge of her nose as though they've repeatedly had that conversation. Which judging by the way Malia and Kira left the room and Braeden rolled her eyes and cocked out a hip with a huff, they probably did.

"If we weren't meant to use those skills in situations like that, then why—"

"Ohhhh no," Laura objected. "No. I am _not_ having this conversation again. Not happening." Slashing her arms in front of her body to signify the end of the convo, she turned on a heel and left, heading through an archway to the left side of the stairs.

Cora rolled her eyes as she turned to Braeden, opening her mouth to speak only to have the darker skinned female talk first.

"I'm not having it either," she stated, eyebrows raised in a "that's final" way. "Now let's go help your sister and see what kinda alcohol is in this place. I've got a feeling we're gonna need it tonight." At that, she flicked her dark eyes over to Stiles, sad smile curving up the corner of her lips.

And while he totally wanted to agree, he was still technically underaged and currently in a house containing of four S-Dubs and the Acting State Alpha. No way he was getting away with drinking anything stronger than a cola.

Damn.

The youngest Hale let out a groan, head tilted back and body slumping as though everything was just too fucking much. "Fiiiine," she dragged out the word, ending it with a huff.

Braeden simply rolled her eyes again, placing her hand between Cora's shoulder blades. "C'mon, princess," she muttered, fighting a smirk as she pushed the younger female in the same direction Laura had just gone. 

Derek shook his head fondly at the two females, Stiles staring after them in confusion before turning to Derek. “Are they,” he started, keeping his voice low. “Are they together?”

The alpha frowned in puzzlement then wiped the expression away, glancing where the girls had disappeared to. “No, just friends,” he responded and unintentionally made Stiles feel like an idiot. “Both Braeden and Cora are Dream-less, but they're fine with it, so don't, like, pity them or anything. Especially not Braeden. She can kick _my_ ass.”

He snorted, smirking at the mental image of a leather clad Braeden literally kicking Derek's ass with those bike motorcycle boots she had on. She seemed like the type to throw a man around—regardless of dynamic—and throttle him, then complain about the mess he just made.

He liked her.

She should never meet Lydia though.

“They both said they're not the relationship type,” Derek went on, scratching at the side of his neck. “And Cora once told me she's aromantic and quote 'doesn't do all that lovey-dovey mushy-gushy squishy feelings bullshit' so.” He ended it with a shrug, clearly not bothered by any of it.

Stiles shrugged right back, not all that bothered by it either, but curious. He figured it had to be weird growing up in a society where finding your Mate seemed to be the number one objective of anyone's life and if you didn't have one, you were looked at like there was something seriously medically wrong with you. Personally he couldn't imagine it, but it was hard to when he'd grown up only knowing what it was like to have the Dreams and know that someone was out there that'd been perfectly made for him.

Peeking out the corner of his eyes, he took in Derek's visage as he stared out a set of slender decorative windows framing the front door, lips parting and brow furrowing. For four years, that was the man Stiles had been dying to find. And for four years, Derek hadn't wanted to be found.

Tonight was shaping up to be a real fun time.

The sounds of a car engine caught his attention and he turned to look out the same windows as Derek, confused frown of his own forming. From what he understood, that night was supposed to be a family only kinda thing—which was part of the reason why he'd thought maybe Braeden was with Cora—and all of the Hales were there. Well, minus the matriarch, but she was off at that Meeting down south so clearly she wouldn't be there. Point was, he had no idea who the hell was currently getting closer and from the look on Derek's face, neither did he.

“Laure?” he called out, still staring out the window. “Who else is coming?”

Stiles turned at the sounds of footsteps, finding every female re-entering the foyer, belatedly realizing he was grossly outnumbered in terms of gender. But more importantly, were the puzzled looks on everyone else's faces, including Laura's, the one who'd organized the entire shindig.

“No one,” she answered, voice gravelly with uncertainty.

Malia automatically unsheathed her claws, pulling back her lips to display her fangs. Cora and Braeden didn't hesitate to follow suit and Stiles turned to find Derek in a similar state.

Showdown at the Hale Corral.

“Stiles, sweetie,” Laura called to him, more worried mother hen than anything else, grabbing at the sleeve of his hoodie and tugging him closer. “Stand near the back.”

He wanted to object, to point out that just because he was an omega that didn't mean he couldn't fucking fight or defend himself. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. The alpha who'd killed Stu was still out there and if his twin's statement on his video was true, then the alpha would be coming after Stiles. Best place for him to be was as far from the door as possible, hidden behind a few alpha S-Dubs.

Kira wrapped her arms around one of Stiles' and tugged him further back, pressing her body up against the side of his in a way that had Malia looking back at them with a sneer. He simply shrugged and shook his head, holding his free hand up to show he was completely innocent when it came to his current body position. The brunette scrunched her nose at him, a low snarl leaving her before she returned her attention to the door. Kira took the chance and snuggled even closer and Stiles patted her head in an awkward method of reassurance.

The car pulled to a stop outside, the engine shutting off seconds after, the door opening and closing not long after that. Laura silently moved behind the door, hand on the knob, peering at her brother. Derek had positioned himself right where the door would open, the first to greet the stranger. His eyes were a dull red, body hunched into attack position, claws primed and ready to sink into whoever was currently making their way along the sidewalk, up the stairs, across the porch...

The door flew open and Derek let out a snarl, snatching whoever it was and yanking them inside, slamming them against the door Laura had pushed shut. He got right in the stranger's face, growling and snapping his teeth before suddenly cutting all sounds off.

“Uncle Peter?”

Uncle Peter?

“Good evening, nephew,” came a haughty voice full of self-entitlement, his manner of speaking almost _too_ smooth. “Wonderful to see you as well.”

Derek's body language relaxed and he backed away, releasing a man who apparently was Uncle Peter. Cora and Braeden put their claws away and Malia let out a groaned “oh god, why?”

Peter turned to her with a smirk, blue eyes sparkling within a classically handsome face. Light scruff covered the lower half of his face, dimpled chin on display, brown hair perfectly coiffed with an obviously expensive haircut. He was dressed in a tight black v-neck that was cut so low it would make a Hooters waitress blush, displaying chest hair he seemed to be very proud of. Dark wash jeans covered his long legs and Stiles could see the ends of a pair of very expensive looking black cowboy boots with silver toes.

“Always a pleasure to see you, sweetheart,” he told Malia and Stiles didn't need to see her face to know she was sneering.

“Die in a fire,” she responded in a saccharine tone and she also didn't need to meet Lydia. Stiles would never be safe again.

Peter turned to Laura, still smiling. “Such a wonderful child, so well-mannered.”

The wonderful child in question flipped him off with a clawed finger before turning on a heel and stomping back to where she'd come from, grabbing Kira's hand along the way and dragging her with her. Deciding there was nothing else to do or see, Cora and Braeden followed suit, Cora muttering about there not being enough alcohol in the house for that evening.

Cheery. Totally optimistic. Really put Stiles at ease.

Laura pinched the bridge of her nose before sighing, muttering so low Stiles couldn't hear it. “Not that we aren't happy to see you,” she began.

“Why are you here?” Derek continued for her, not nearly as diplomatically or well-mannered as his twin.

She folded her arms over her chest, nodding in agreement with him. “Last we heard you were in Oklahoma trying to be a cowboy.”

“Texas actually,” Peter corrected her, still wearing that same smug smirk. “Better nightlife. But when Talia called and told me the news about poor Stuart, I drove straight here to comfort my poor nephew in his time of need.” He turned to Stiles then, smirk turning lecherous, blue eyes looking him up and down slowly. “Although I can see you don't need it.”

A shudder raced down Stiles' spine and he only just managed not to give a whole body shake at it. There was just something so very... creepy about Peter, something that didn't quite sit right with him. He was almost _too_ suave, _too_ handsome, the attractive villain you can't wait to see lose but very much enjoy looking at, leaving you torn throughout the entire movie or TV show.

Derek's jaw clenched, fingers curving up into fists, aggression rolling off him as he glared at his uncle. But Peter didn't notice or didn't care, simply sauntered over to Stiles with his fingers steepled in front of his chest.

“And who might you be?” he questioned when he came to a stop closer than what was socially acceptable, even without bringing in the whole “unclaimed omega” thing.

He swallowed hard, refusing to be intimidated, holding off on the urge to look to Derek for help. He could handle this, could handle Creepy Uncle Bad-Touch. He wasn't a weak omega damsel in distress. He was fine.

But still. There as this thing called “Personal Space” and Peter was all up in Stiles'.

Without an invite.

Not that he'd ever get one though. Fuck no.

“Stiles,” he replied, tone and features flat, not giving anything away. But his heart was pounding in his chest and if he was truly honest, there was a slight tremor in his voice, but again, the dude was literally two inches from making bodily contact and Stiles had literally just met him. Anyone would be nervous and uncomfortable in that position.

“Stiles,” Peter repeated, smirk growing. “My, but you _do_ look an awful lot like Stuart.”

He snorted. “Well, yeah. _Twins_.”

Blue eyes looked him up and down once more, a tongue darting out to lick his lips and that smirk became more lecherous than before. “Mm, yes indeed,” he drawled, and Stiles gave in to the full body shudder at that.

“If you're done trying to verbally molest a guy whose brother just died,” Derek snarked, stepping closer and wrapping a hand around Stiles' upper arm, gently pulling him away. The alpha glared at his uncle, jaw ticking, and Laura moved to the other side of Peter, eyes narrowed and analytical.

The uncle stepped back with his hands in the air, innocent expression on his face. “I meant no offense,” he stated, heartbeat steady and scent practically nonexistent, just pure alpha, with notes of a leather car interior and expensive cologne. He fixated his eyes on Stiles, hand on his chest as he inclined his head. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable, dear Stiles. It's not every day you meet an omega of your caliber.”

A confused frown formed on Stiles' face and he opened his mouth to ask what the hell that meant exactly, but wound up being tugged away by Derek, leaving Peter to get an earful from Laura.

“Cora was right,” the alpha muttered as Stiles got his feet under him and managed to walk rather than stumble. “There really isn't enough alcohol in this house for tonight.”

Stiles had a feeling there wasn't enough alcohol in all of northern California.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dinner surprisingly went better than expected.

Which wasn't saying much, since Stiles was expecting a whole bunch of awkward silence and creepy as fuck inappropriate comments from Peter.

The latter part still happened, of course, Laura flashing her red eyes at him more than once, Peter always responding with a snide smirk and a salute with his wine glass, mood growing more ill by the minute.

But the rest of it went rather pleasantly. When she wasn't trying to put her uncle in his place, Laura was sweet and kind, acting as a mother to everyone and the perfect hostess. Kira was chatty, her stories more of rambles than anything, with her constantly trying to double-back and redo whatever flub she'd just made. Malia smiled the entire time, endeared by her Mate's foibles and quirks, adding in a few comments of her own, though her's weren't quite as sweet, rather the biting remarks of someone who had a few issues with right and wrong.

Although considering Peter was her father, maybe it was a familial thing.

Cora brought up poker once more, getting rejected again by everyone at the table, making her roll her eyes. “Fuck you guys anyway. Stu was the only one worth playing. He could actually give me a run for my money.”

“Literally,” Derek murmured behind his wineglass, smirking.

“He was the only one I couldn't read for some reason,” Cora pouted, stabbing at her lasagna.

“Maybe he was just good at keeping secrets and hiding things,” Laura suggested, eyes flicking over to Derek, who gulped more of his red.

Braeden didn't contribute much, but when she did, it was with a level of sass and snark that would be offensive to anyone else had Stiles not grown up being a borderline asshole with sarcasm himself. He even had the chance to throw in a few remarks of his own, making everyone laugh and Derek hide fond smiles of his own with bites of food or wiping his face with his napkin.

Yeah, the evening wasn't a total disaster and Stiles felt completely at ease with everyone. It reminded him of group hangs with his own friends back home, friendly banter and good-natured jibes thrown at one another. The wine he was actually allowed—“You're gonna need it, sweetie,” Laura had said while filling his glass nearly to the brim—helped to further calm any and all frayed nerves, and he let himself get lost in the moment.

Which was a terrible idea. Because he wound up feeling like he belonged there, that it could've been his every night—or every Sunday night, he mentally corrected, remembering Derek mentioning family dinners on that day—but it wasn't supposed to be. He needed to not get used to it. Was better that way.

Really, the only damper on the entire evening had been Peter, his inappropriate comments about everything, his every other sentence an innuendo that had Laura sighing, Cora rolling her eyes, Malia sneering, and Derek glaring. Yeah, Stiles wasn't really in the mood to spend any more time around that guy than absolutely necessary.

Thankfully he left once the food was gone, telling everyone he'd just meet them at the pyre, eyes roaming Stiles once more as he “bid everyone adieu”. The omega scowled until the sound of his car faded into the distance, glad to be rid of him.

For the time being at least.

Everyone seemed to scatter, including Derek, whose phone rang and he stepped outside, stating it was work. With nothing better to do and not wanting to be rude, Stiles helped Laura clean up, stacking plates, utensils on top.

Laura peered at him as she gathered wine glasses, eyebrow cocked in a clearly Hale way. “You know you don't have to do that, right?” she double-checked, pausing to finishing off some wine that someone had left behind. “You're a guest. You're supposed to be off chatting with everyone else.”

He shrugged, picking up his stack of plates and following her through to the kitchen. “In my house, the person who cooks doesn't do clean-up, everyone else does.”

An amused snort left her at that as she headed straight to the sink, carefully placing the glasses to the side of it and gesturing for Stiles to put his stack inside it. “Wish that would ring true at my house, but I live alone so.” She gestured with her hands in a “what can ya do?” way before shrugging it off and going back to the dining room, him on her heels.

Scratching at his forehead, he internally debated for a moment before giving in to his curiosity, figuring there was no harm really. “Yeah, uh,” he began, working on gathering salad plates as she gathered more glasses. “Why _are_ you and your Mate not together? If you don't mind me asking.”

Leaning over the table, Laura shrugged, slight pout on her face to show it didn't bother her. “I don't mind,” she answered honestly, heart beat steady, if not a little slower, her scent turning somewhat melancholic. “We met when I was in the Army and he was already married with a kid. He really loves his wife, is over the moon about his daughter, and I.” She straightened up, sighing as she tucked her hair behind her ear in that nervous tic he'd observed earlier. “I didn't wanna ruin that. I wasn't about to play homewrecker and destroy this family or his happiness.” With another shrug, she turned to him with a sad smile, green eyes more watery than they had been moments before. “It's not always how it plays out in the movies.”

He snorted out a “no kidding” without even realizing it, face heating up with a blush as he sharply turned back to the table and focused on what he was doing once more. He hadn't meant to make it about himself, hadn't meant to call attention to his own not-so-romantic life bullshit, hadn't meant to make shit more obvious between him and Derek. But he had. Because he was Stiles and he was a moron like that.

Shit.

Footsteps grew closer, Laura slowly approaching him, stopping a chair away and leaning her side on the back of it. “Look,” she began softly, her voice barely above a whisper so no one in the next room could hear. “My brother is a hard-headed, self-sacrificing moron, okay? He's been punishing himself for something that wasn't even his fault for as long as I can remember and while I've learned to tolerate it, I don't want his bullshit to start affecting your life, alright? Don't let him push you away out of some ludicrous martyr complex idiocy.”

What the...

What?

Stiles frowned, eyes narrowing, lips parting and pursing as he struggled to figure out what the hell she was referring to. And why the hell she thought it was relevant to their current conversation.

Unless...

Jesus Christ, of course. Because _twins_. Because she'd already been suspicious of Derek and Stu, evidenced in that damn photo, so of course she was gonna pick up on the differences in the way Derek and Stiles behaved around one another. Derek had been quick to pull Stiles away from Peter when he became uncomfortable. Derek had sat with his arm around the back of Stiles' chair for most of dinner. They'd both tried to hide smirks and telling glances throughout the night, but Laura had picked up on all of it.

He was suddenly glad he didn't have an older sister. They don't miss shit.

She raised her eyebrows as if to dare him to say something, to lie about how Derek and his self-sacrificing behavior had nothing to do with Stiles or his commentary about Mates not being like the movies. But he couldn't. Because Laura was fucking right and he couldn't lie to anyone really, much less an alpha. An _Alpha_ alpha, at that.

“Promise me you won't,” she requested, locking eyes on his and he had to turn away from the intensity of her imploring look, gritting his jaw, refusing to make a vow he knew he'd end up breaking.

Because Derek wasn't the only self-sacrificing idiot between the two of them.

Footsteps nearing the room drew their attention and they both turned to the main archway, watching as Cora poked her head in, now in a black thermal shirt, tactical pants still on. “Sun's setting, guys,” she announced. “We gotta go.”

Laura nodded and gave an “all right”, turning back to Stiles once her sister disappeared. She made to speak, but for once, he was the one to talk first and cut someone else off.

“We should get these plates soaking, otherwise that lasagna isn't gonna come off.”

She looked dumbstruck for a moment, slowly nodding once when she recovered and understood his diversion tactic. “It's fine. Really good dishwasher,” she reassured, phony smile on her face as she played along, probably figuring there was no way to go back to the previous topic, not if she had any sort of experience trying to do that with Stu.

And Stiles was worse with that shit.

“It's not you, is it?” he joked, smirking like a little shit.

She snorted and shoved his head playfully, grinning at his chuckle. “C'mon, knucklehead. Time to get this show on the road.”

His mood dropped at the sudden reminder of where it was they were going and why. He swallowed hard, smile becoming shaky as he agreed. With a deep, tremulous breath, he tried to shore what little strength he had and followed her out the dining room.

Time to get the show on the road.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Oak Creek Memorial Garden was an area of forest sectioned off near the Mausoleum, most likely for convenience. No cars were allowed past the wrought iron gate—that was open at the moment, given the fact that a funeral was taking place that evening—so they all parked along the side of the street, walking through on the tarred road. The trees tapered off some several dozen yards in, the road ending and giving way to a giant field that was well taken care of and recently mowed.

Stiles looked around as he followed behind the two Hale sisters, Derek on his right, having to rely more on his wolf vision than his human one due to the twilight. The sky above was a purplish-blue, a few stars already twinkling, the tree line a black jagged silhouette cutting into the air. The acre-wide lot featured countless people Stiles didn't know and he was almost certain the entire town had shown up. Which made sense. Small community like this, a grisly murder that seemed so out of the ordinary in this otherwise idyllic place, the victim the Mate of a prominent alpha and the son-in-law of the State Alpha. People were gonna show, if not to pay respects, but to give in to their own curiosity.

He swallowed hard, ducking his head momentarily, not sure if he was glad for such a huge turn out or pissed that so many people there were only pretending they gave a shit about Stu.

Looking up again, his eyes came across the S-Dubs to one side, Aiden, Parrish and Lydia, Erica and Boyd, Jackson and Isaac, all giving him sad smiles and small waves, which he returned. Braeden, Malia, and Kira split off from the group to join them, all moving in a speedy yet subdued manner, even the usually bouncy Kira.

He briefly wondered who was manning the comms and cameras back at HQ since it seemed like everyone was at the funeral. He hoped to god there were some S-Dubs he hadn't met yet, otherwise they were all at a huge risk. With no eyes scanning anyone at the gate and no guards waiting with guns to stop anyone from entering, the entire town was vulnerable for attack.

Or rather, _another_ attack.

Derek glanced at him, then followed his line of sight to the S-Dubs, then back to him, leaning closer to his ear. “Caitlin, Emily, Sean, and Josh are in charge right now,” he reassured, causing Stiles to turn to him with a confused look. “They're our usual night-shift group. Or some of them anyway. They volunteered to watch over everything at HQ so everyone else could be here tonight.”

“Ohhh. Okay.” He gave the alpha a smile, feeling more at ease thanks to that explanation.

At least he could shove _that_ paranoid line of thought away.

The four of them stopped walking when they reached the front of the crowd, stopping about twenty feet from where the pyre was already set up and waiting, a lit torch rising from the ground a few feet from each corner. Logs of white mountain ash wood were stacked and arranged to create a platform six feet high, where a body wrapped with gauze that'd been soaked in wolfsbane lay.

_Stuart's_ body.

Stiles couldn't look at it, eyes falling to the wood, the bark stripped off, bare of leaves and twigs, and he knew he was distracting himself by thinking of stupid mundane shit, but... But it couldn't be helped. That was his _brother_ on top of that pyre, his _twin_. Despite having seen his corpse at the ME's office, despite being right on it and feeling its cold flesh and lack of heartbeat or breath, he was still having a hard time accepting that Stu was gone, that all this was real, that it was his brother up on top of that stack of wood.

Fucking hell. He was about to watch Stu's body burn and turn to ashes.

Fuck.

“Can I have everyone's attention?!” Laura called out, standing in front of the pyre. The murmurs of distant, indistinguishable conversations slowly drifted to an end, all eyes and ears focused on the female who demanded it.

A grateful, yet sad, smile formed on her face and she inclined her head in thanks. “As Acting Alpha, I want to welcome everyone here tonight as we honor the life of Omega Stuart, born to the Stilinski Pack of Beacon Hills, California, and Mated into the Hale Pack of Oak Creek, California.” She paused to clear her throat and gather herself and Stiles caught the scent of several people's misery and consolation.

It was worse than when he was a kid, when he wasn't entirely sure what was going on, just that his mom was gone and not coming back. Now, he was more familiar with loss, with what it meant and how it truly felt. He knew what was about to happen, knew what would come in the hours that followed, the days, weeks, months, years. It was gonna sting and burn and ache and he'd forever feel like he was missing something important, something vital. Even more so, considering who he was losing this time was half of himself, his twin.

“Everyone who knew Stuart knew what a good soul he was,” Laura continued, voice strong and sure, pushing herself through it. He had a feeling it wasn't for vanity's sake or her pride, but for Stu, to honor him properly. “How intelligent and witty and talented he was, how determined and loyal and hard-working he was. Yes, he could be a sarcastic, cynical jerk,” she admitted with a smirk. “But that just made us love him more. His life was cut far too short, further proving that old cliché that the good die young.”

Stiles felt Derek tense beside him and he glanced over to note the haunted look on his face, green eyes fixated straight ahead at absolutely nothing.

“But his memory shall live on forever as long as we all remember him in our hearts,” Laura proclaimed, drawing the omega's attention back to her. “And now, his Mate Derek wishes to speak. Derek?” She gestured to him then where she'd been standing as she stepped to the side.

Derek took the place she vacated, clearing his throat into his hand with his head ducked, seeming more awkward than any alpha, or son of an Alpha, had any right to be. But then again, it probably was. The entire town thought he was mourning a True Mate, yet once again, he was lying to everyone about it, all while his _real_ True Mate was standing only a few feet away.

Okay, yeah, maybe he had a right to be awkward.

“Stuart was my best friend,” he declared shakily, clearing his throat again and continuing on much stronger. “He was a good Mate, a great man, and he deserved much better than this.” Swallowing hard, he turned to the pyre, addressing Stu, voice weaker than before. “I'm so sorry, Stu. I promised to protect you and I failed. I'll carry the guilt of that alongside your memory and I won't forget either. I'll miss you.” He bumped his knuckles against a log then scuffled over to stand beside his sister, head hanging once more.

Stiles felt his chest constrict at Derek's words, at his regret and remorse. None of it was his fault. The alpha had done everything in his power to keep his word, to keep his Mate safe. It was all that stalker alpha's fault, all his doing. And the asshole wasn't done ruining lives, dragging Derek through Hell as he struggled with his guilt and the misplaced belief that he was somehow responsible for something that'd taken place while he was asleep.

It explained why Stiles kept catching the scent on him back in the beginning though. Not guilt over having killed his Mate, but because he felt responsible for it due to his self-perceived inability to keep him safe.

Shit.

Glancing away from Derek, he caught Laura's eye, watching as she cocked an eyebrow in question and subtly gestured to the unofficial speaking platform. He still had no idea if he wanted to say something, what he should say, if it was appropriate for this out-of-towner to speak at a funeral for someone who meant so much to apparently every single person in their small community.

His eyes shifted to the pyre, to his brother on top of it. His mind made up.

With a deep breath, he stepped forward, standing where Derek and Laura previously had, facing the crowd. And holy shit that was a lot more people than he thought it'd been.

Okay, no, this was cool, this was okay. He'd given a speech at high school graduation, had done spelling bees and quiz bowls and was even on the debate team for a minute. He could do this.

For Stu.

Yeah. For Stu.

“Uh, hi, everyone,” he greeted awkwardly, waving at the crowd. “I'm Stiles. I'm Stu's twin brother. Obviously.” He winced at that, scratching his forehead with a finger. Off to a great start, clearly. Okay, time to regroup. He could do this. Just say whatever came to mind. Wasn't like he hadn't mouth-vomited his way out of situations before.

He sighed, shoving both hands in his jeans pockets, hunching his shoulders up. “Yeah, my brother was an ass,” he informed them in a plain tone, dropping his shoulders to their usual height. “Growing up, we were constantly fighting, disagreeing on pretty much everything. Except for a mutual annoyance at everyone getting our names wrong.” He held his hand out in front of him, chuckling nervously and scratching the back of his neck before going on.

“But he was still my brother. He was the one who helped comfort me when our mom got sick then died and our dad was out of it. He was the one who unknowingly motivated me to learn to cook and clean and do laundry due to his overwhelmingly _terrible_ ability to do any of it. He helped me with homework when I needed it, let me drive our Jeep more often than he did. He was the shoulder I cried on when I had my heart broken by a crush I'd had for about ten years.” At that, he glanced over at Lydia, who gave him a small wistful smile and a nod to tell him he was doing all right and not _completely_ fucking up.

“He touched so many lives over the years and I just.” He paused, taking a deep breath and sniffing. His chest was too tight again, too empty, and too.... Fuck, he didn't know. But his eyes were watering and his entire body felt _off_ and his wolf was whimpering and whining and he just wanted to go home, to _his_ home, curl up in Stu's bed and cry for a week.

Because he could do that, could go in his bed now. Wasn't like Stu was ever gonna use it, not like before when there was a chance he'd be coming back.

“I can't believe he's gone,” he murmured absently, forgetting he was supposed to be making a speech, sniffing before speaking louder. “It just doesn't feel right,” he went on, voice tremulous, thick. “It feels like half of me is missing, like it's been ripped from me and I'm never gonna get it back and.” He paused, clearing his throat as a sheepish grin formed on his face. “Yeah, I have no idea where I was going with this speech. Just.”

Sighing, he turned to the pyre, his back to the crowd, peering up and addressing Stu, and only Stu. “I miss you, bro,” he told him, shaky smile on his face. “I love you and. Imee dewit finend wahat nomee begart.”

“ _I will finish what you started._ ”

With a resolved clench of his jaw, he turned to Laura and gave her a nod, signaling he was done.

The alpha looked confused but shook it off, letting out an “okay then” before gesturing to Cora. Derek joined Stiles on the other side of the pyre, and the four of them each grabbed a torch, standing at the four corners, Laura and Derek closer to the crowd.

“On this night of the New Moon,” Laura recited, voice loud and true as though she'd done this dozens of times. “When our wolves are resting, may your soul find peace for all eternity and may your spirit find a home in the great beyond.”

On cue, all four of them stepped forward, laying their torches on the pyre and igniting it. The flames crackled against the wood, spreading, growing, until every last piece of wood was burning.

Until _Stu_ was burning.

He felt his back being nudged and he moved on automatic to the spot they'd claimed front and center, twenty feet away, Stuart's closest family and pack watching him as he turned to ashes, as his soul was laid to rest on a bed on mountain ash and wrapped in wolfsbane. Tearing his eyes away, he glanced to the right, noting how no one stood at the same close proximity as them, a respect thing. Same thing to the left, only one set of glowing eyes from the flames reflecting off their retinas as they stood at the tree line, leaning against a large oak.

Stiles' wolf snarled in his head, the first sound it'd made all night that wasn't sounds of distress or upset aimed in Stu's direction. And it wasn't hard to figure out why. Peter was staring right back at him, a lecherous smile slowly forming on his face.

He snapped his head back to the pyre, shuddering, wrapping his arms around himself. Derek stepped closer, pressing the side of his body along Stiles' in warmth and support and the omega let himself get lost in the flames, body numbing out despite the heat washing over him.


	19. The Distraction.

The pyre took nearly six and a half hours to fully burn all the way through. Yet tradition stated that they stay out there all night, no one leaving until the sun rose and the sky lightened.

Stiles didn't remember most of it. He didn't remember most of his mom's funeral either, but he'd always figured it was because he'd been so young, that most memories from that age were gone, only the highlights—and extreme lowlights—sticking around. But that clearly wasn't the case. It was all a matter of it being too much for him to handle so his brain had just shut down, saving him from most of the pain and emotional scarring.

He sat at some point, must have, because his ass was numb and his feet didn't hurt nearly as much as he thought they would. That much he was aware of. The rest? Not so much.

Derek hauled him to his feet when a majority of the crowd had left, when the S-Dubs had gathered around the slab of aconite that lay on the ground where the pyre had been built, mound of ashes spread across the top. It was impossible to tell what was wood and what was Stu, even more impossible to separate them. Families wound up with giant urns the size of barrels, full of ashes, theirs to do whatever their loved one's last request was. Scatter it somewhere. Put it in a mausoleum. Some families kept a miniature version of the urn with some of the ashes in their homes.

The Stilinskis were one of those families.

Panic welled up inside and he began hyperventilating, beating his hand against Derek's chest as the alpha held him upright, supportive arm wrapped around his waist.

"No, they can't—Stu—I—my mom—" he stammered between gasps, tugging at Derek's tee, trying to get him to understand. They couldn't put all the ashes in one urn. There had to be some saved, some he could take with him, to put in a smaller urn and set it next to his mom's. He needed to bring Stu home, even if it wasn't alive and in one piece.

Derek rounded him, hands on his upper arms as he locked onto his eyes. "Stiles? Stiles. It's okay," he stated calmly, evenly, trying his best to ease the omega without commanding him. "We took care of it, alright? Look." He nodded his head to the side, eyes fixated in something behind and to the right of Stiles.

Turning his head, the younger man caught sight of Lydia standing a few feet away, Parrish to her right, arms cradling a silver urn with three black lines scored all the way around it, tag hanging from around the top on a chain.

Just like his mom's.

A long sigh of relief left him and he pulled away from Derek, heading straight for Lydia, wrapping her up in a tight embrace as soon as she was within arms reach. Parrish took the urn from her, holding it carefully as he stood to the side, allowing her to return the tight hug, fingernails scratching the back of his head.

"It's okay, Stiles," she murmured by his ear, her short stature not allowing her to quite reach it, but her heels helping to close the distance. "We've got it handled."

A shuddering exhale left him, his head falling to her shoulder, trembles racking his entire body. He'd completely forgotten everything, hadn't remembered the moon cycle or the urn or a speech, none of it. He'd been too young when he'd lost his mom so he wasn't involved in any of those arrangements, but he should've done something for Stu, should've remembered.

But he hadn't.

But Lydia had.

Because Lydia was perfect in every way and the best person to have by his side during all this. No offense to Scott, but the guy would've been more concerned over Stiles' mental and emotional state than remembering an urn—not that there was anything wrong with that, but it wasn't what Stiles needed, not when he had so many other people around him for that, including Derek. He needed someone to remember all the stupid details he'd spaced on, like taking some of his brother's ashes home and getting something to put them in.

And she'd remembered. She'd taken care of it for him because she knew he couldn't. And in a way, she'd helped take care of Stu as well.

"Thank you," he whispered roughly, eyes stinging behind his closed lids.

A soothing hand rubbed up and down his back, her head nodding against his. "Of course," she murmured back. "I promised I'd help."

A small smile formed on his face at that and he pulled away just enough for her to see it, for him to look down at her with watery eyes and see the shine in her red-rimmed green ones. They'd both put a best friend to rest that night and now, they were gonna make sure part of him came home.

Derek slowly approached them and Stiles sniffed then fully removed himself from Lydia's embrace, she moving so she was standing beside him and rubbing his upper arm. The male alpha glanced at his subordinates, Laura waving her arms around and pointing as she organized and coordinated everyone, then turned back to the two visitors.

"My crew is gonna take care of everything," Derek informed them, voice low out of care rather than a need for discretion. It was as though everyone had come to an unspoken agreement that it was time for quiet volumes to go along with the delicate situation. Or maybe they were too tired to put forth the energy to talk any louder, too emotionally weighed down to fight for their words to be heard.

"We can stay and watch if you want," Derek went on, leaving the choice entirely up to Stiles.

His whiskey eyes fixated on that pile of ashes, watching as the male members of the S-Dubs—minus Parrish, who was still only a few feet away from Lydia, holding the smaller urn—and Braeden left the group, presumably to get supplies and whatever tools they were gonna need. Stiles wasn't entirely sure if he _could_ watch, if he could emotionally handle it, much less if he wanted to. His brother had been reduced to nothing but dust that was about to be scooped into a giant three foot urn. Yeah, he wasn't watching that.

Shaking his head, he returned his gaze to Derek, letting the exhaustion show on his face. "I just wanna go to bed," he admitted roughly.

The alpha nodded in response before focusing in Lydia, giving her a grateful smile. "Thanks again for all your help."

A small grin of her own formed, dimples displayed, and she slid her hand down Stiles' arm to squeeze his wrist. "Of course." Kissing Stiles' cheek, she softly told him to rest up, told him they'd talk later.

He nodded dumbly, watching as Parrish approach, hand outstretched, and he shook it as he was offered heartfelt condolences.

Derek put his hand between Stiles' shoulder blades, steering him away and extracting him from the group before anyone noticed they were leaving, before anyone else approached to offer words of sympathy. He couldn't remember if any of the townspeople had once the flames had died out, the sky still black, making it okay to speak—at a low and respectful volume, of course—and move about. He kind of didn't care whether or not they had. He didn't know this people, didn't care what they thought, if they were sorry for his loss or whatever other cliché bullshit people generally said. These people meant nothing to him.

Turning back, he watched the S-Dubs, Lydia, Laura, and Kira around the aconite slab, Aiden and Boyd carrying the urn, Isaac, Jackson, and Braeden pushing wheelbarrows of shovels and scoops and dustpans and brushes. Facing the front again, he caught sight of Derek out the corner of his eye as they stepped onto the tar road and left the grass.

Okay. Maybe _some_ of them meant something to him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Movies and TV shows have you believe that the day of the pyre and the one following were full of rain. Thick, heavy drops falling from the sky and soaking everything as the pyre was built—yet somehow still magically ignited and burned—a light drizzle during the funeral itself, not enough to put the fire out, but enough to be felt and seen.

Stiles figured it was the symbology of it all, remembered discussing it during his film criticism class freshman year at Stanford. The rain was meant to add to the dreariness of the whole thing, to visually express the sadness and turmoil everyone felt inside over the loss. It was added for drama, to make the scene more depressing, to help you see what the characters were feeling.

The day they built Stu's pyre was a sunny eighty-four degrees with a few fluffy clouds that look like bunny rabbits and flowers and other cutesy things. The night of the funeral was a warm sixty-three with clear skies and damn near every star on display. The day after, as the sun rose above the trees and the sky turned gorgeous shades of purple, orange, and pink, was shaping up to be another beautiful sunny California day.

Stiles hated it.

He wanted rain, wanted thunder, wanted the weather to reflect the storm raging in his head. He wanted to be soaked to the bone going from the car to the front door. He wanted his clothes to be hanging off him they were so wet and his skin covered in so much water, he'd be shaking all over.

He got a sunrise that looked like Bob Ross had painted it with his happy blue and happy peach, happy little bush over there and happy little bird in the tree singing a sweet tune to greet the morning.

_The Joy of Painting_ could suck his dick at that point in all honesty.

The car ride was silent on the way back to Derek's house, neither of them saying anything until they'd stepped inside and had taken off their shoes. And even then, a long few minutes of not talking passed between them, Stiles still numb from the funeral he'd just witnessed and the knowledge that it was his twin that had been burned.

Probably beating a dead horse to continuously think of it, to constantly bring up his relation to the deceased, but it was all he could think about. His twin, his twin, his fucking _twin_.

Was Stiles even considered a twin anymore? He'd _had_ one, his twin _had_ been alive. But now that he was no longer living did that mean Stiles was no longer a twin? Did it just void all that out?

Seemed to him like it did. Technically he was now an only child, just like his dad was once the father of two boys and Derek was once a Mate but was now a widower.

Fuck that was weird. After twenty years of being a twin, of being constantly lumped together with Stu until they were this amorphous blob known as "The Stilinski Twins", he was now all by himself. Everyone would be able to tell which one he was because he was the only one still alive.

Fucking hell.

His breathing became shakier as he stood just inside the house, staring at his sock covered feet. No more being mistaken for Stu because there was no Stu for him to be mistaken for. It was just him now, his twinship cut in half, his _entire family_ cut in half.

"Stiles?"

He shook his head as it continued to hang, counting fingers on trembling hands. Not a dream. He was awake and all of it was very, very real.

Damn.

Lifting his head, he met the concern gaze of a very worried Derek, his head tilting slightly to the side.

"You okay?" the alpha asked lowly, getting a head shake in response. "There anything I can do?"

That part Stiles nodded to, stepping closer and closer, not stopping until his feet were between the other man's and their chests were only an inch apart. Threading his fingers through Derek's belt loops, he bit his lip, not entirely sure how to ask but knowing there was no way he couldn't.

"Make me forget," he murmured and he felt the shaky exhale of the other man ghost against his lips. "I just wanna get out of my head and forget about the night."

Derek swallowed hard, fists clenching at his sides, every muscle in his body tensed up. But Stiles could smell the want slowly taking over his scent and knew that tension wasn't from disgust or discomfort; Derek was holding himself back.

"You sure?" the alpha questioned in a strained voice, lids at half mast as his eyes locked onto Stiles' lips, tongue darting out to wet his own.

The younger man's breathing became shakier for a whole 'nother reason, shiver racing up his spine. There was an edge of danger to the whole thing, that tingle in his mind that he was playing with fire and should back away. But there was also that rush of excitement that came with it, that anticipatory increase in his heart rate, the adrenaline pumping through his system and making him restless.

Swallowing hard, he gave a shaky nod, voice trembling as he gave a weak "yeah".

Which apparently was the magic word to spring Derek into action. He cupped the omega's face in his broad palms as he crashed their lips together, sparks of electricity zapping through Stiles at the contact. It was heated, rushed, passionate, this all-consuming thing that he needed with a desperation he'd never felt before.

Hands grabbed at one another, pawing, groping. His hoodie was unceremoniously shoved off his shoulders and he shoved the sleeves past his hands, letting it drop to the floor while he wrapped his arms around the other man's neck. Hips rolled against his, a hand grabbing at his ass and pressing him even closer, allowing him to feel the bulge of the half-hard cock trapped within Derek's jeans. Stiles let out a whimper, the sound muffled by the lips pressed to his, and he bucked his hips against Derek's, letting him feel just how very on board he was with everything.

A low rumbling growl was the alpha's response and Stiles felt his passage dampen further and his arousal kick up higher. The scent of Derek's want became stronger and Stiles began clawing at his shirt with blunt fingernails, trying to pull himself impossibly closer. Hands cupped the back of his thighs and before he could register a single thought, he was hoisted in the air, his legs wrapping around the older man's waist on automatic.

He pulled away with a grin, amusement joining his chemosignals. "Nice move."

Derek grinned back just as wide, bunny teeth on display, green eyes twinkling in delight. "Glad you liked."

"Mmm, very much so," he admitted before reconnecting their lips, taking the lead this time as he slipped his tongue inside the other man's mouth.

People always comment on what someone tastes like, what flavors still resided in their mouth, but there was nothing. Pure Derek. Yet it was still enough to make Stiles' head spin.

Oh,wait, no. He was _actually_ spinning.

Derek turned them around, somehow managing to maneuver them into the master bedroom—or what Stiles was assuming was the master bedroom, judging by the short distance and a door opening and shutting—then headed straight for the bed. Stiles felt his world tilt on its axis again as he was lowered down onto the mattress, his arms around the other man dragging Derek down with him.

Hips rolled, gasps filled the room, and Stiles felt all the blood in his body rush south as his cock plumped up and his passage dampened further. He felt himself get lost in the feel of a hard bulge pressing down against his and creating a pleasurable friction, in the feel of soft lips parting and gripping and tugging at his own, in the feel of whiskers scratching at his chin in a _pleasurepain_ burn. His mind was slowly shutting down, only focusing on the physical sensations, on the scents and sounds and tastes of what they were doing. It was exactly what he wanted, what he _needed_ , and he gave in to it wholeheartedly.

He somehow managed to wrangle the older man's shirt to his armpits and Derek sat up, straddling his hips, then pulled it over his head and tossed it away. Stiles eyes and hands all roamed the flesh that had just been bared, eyes tracing the lines of muscles and his fingers following that same pathway. Derek took advantage of his distraction, slipping his black tee up and over his head, his own hands skimming over pale skin as his eyes flickered about, seemingly unable to focus on any one thing.

"Fuck. You're even more beautiful that I remember," Derek murmured reverently, getting a disbelieving snort in response. He smacked the back of his hand on Stiles' chest playfully, barely using any strength, then leaned down to rub his nose against the tip of the younger man's. "You are. And I'm gonna make you believe it."

Stiles opened his mouth to wish him luck, but was instead met with another heated kiss. Their hips rolled in a crashing rhythm of push/pull, chests sliding together, bare skin causing a delicious sort of friction. Derek wrapped his fingers around both of Stiles' wrists and pinned them above his head, holding them down in a wordless order. He nodded to show he understood, their lips parting yet still rubbing together with his actions.

Derek switched his grip so that he held both wrists in one hand, dragging his lips along the younger man's jaw, down the side of his throat, along the edge of his ear. Stiles shivered beneath him, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, low whimper leaving him at the tickle of breath on his lobe.

The alpha managed to find and exploit every weak spot Stiles had, nipping his collarbone, blowing gently against his neck, sucking at a nipple, licking along his pit. He took his time, moved slowly, kissing practically every mole on his body, every freckle and scar and mark on the pale flesh. He nuzzled the crook of his neck, growling as he scented him, hips rolling with more purpose at that. And when he pressed blunt teeth on the left side of his neck—where a Claiming Bite would go—Stiles damn near came.

His wrists were released as Derek moved further down his body, but he kept them in place, digging his fingers in the pillow as the jut of his hips were nipped, as the line of his jeans was licked, as a mark was sucked right above his pelvis. His every breath was shaky, chest heaving, yet he wanted, _needed_ more.

Derek moved so he was kneeling at the end of the bed, slipping off one of Stiles' socks, then the other, kissing the instep of his foot. The omega's leg twitched as he giggled, slapping a hand over his mouth.

"Ticklish there," he stated the obvious, feeling a grin form against the arch of his foot and his leg jerked again at the sensation.

When Derek finally released his foot, it was with a wicked grin and a devious spark in his eyes, leaning forward with his fists on either side of the smaller man's body. "Good to know," he rumbled, eyes looking down, down, down before the smirk grew.

Stiles swallowed hard as his jeans were unbuttoned, unzipped, slipped down his legs and off. Nerves pooled in his stomach, twisting and knotting up, his chest heaving as his breathing became shakier. Hell, all of him was shaky at that point, body trembling in a combination of anticipation and anxiety.

But he _wanted_ this, wanted to feel Derek once more, wanted the alpha inside him in some way. And if he couldn't get exactly what he wanted—mainly the guy's cock and knot—he'd settle for those thick fingers filling him up once more, spreading him open and driving him to orgasm.

The memories of that very thing from the night before came crashing down, making him bite his lower lip to hold back a moan. His cock was fully hard, tenting his boxers, his slick leaking out and soaking into the cotton as precome created a matching wet spot on the front.

Derek's nostrils flared as he caught the scent of it, eyes flashing red before zeroing in on the omega's crotch, a pleased growl rumbling up from his chest. Spreading the younger man's legs apart, he settled between them, laying flat on the bed. He ran his nose up along his hard length, making Stiles shiver, before burying it behind his balls and letting out a guttural groan.

"Smell so good," Derek practically whined, hands gripping Stiles' inner-thighs and holding them apart.

The omega bucked his hips in a wordless plea to be touched, fingers tangling in the sheet on either side of him. He watched through half-lidded eyes as the older man dragged his bottom lip up his length then sealed his mouth around the tip, sucking at the wet spot. A shaky cry left him, hips rising up again, more slick dampening his passage and his crack.

"Oh fuck," he breathed out, head tilting back, feeling more of the mushroom head being sucked into the older man's mouth. "Oh _shit_."

Thumbs pressed into the lines where his thighs met his groin, rubbing and massaging, fingers creeping up to the waistband of his boxers. He peered down to see the questioning look on Derek's face, nodding adamantly and licking his lips. His underwear was slowly peeled down, blunt teeth biting at the jut of one hipbone, mouth sucking at the dip of the other, creating a mark that disappeared all too soon.

Damn.

His boxers were slipped off and discarded with the same ease as his pants, leaving him naked and spread-eagle on the bed. Derek's eyes flashed red as they roamed his vulnerable form, tongue absently licking his lips as he knelt between the omega's legs. Stiles caught of the scent of the alpha's arousal kicking up a notch, his cock twitching in response and dragging a rumbling growl from the older man. They were feeding off one another's excitement, the more turned on one got, the more it ratcheted up in the other, a never-ending cycle of desire and need.

His own eyes drifted over the older man, taking in the dips and planes of his muscular torso, blunt teeth sinking in to his lower lip at the line of hair trailing from his belly button down past the waistband of his jeans.

Which, no. Why were there still clothes? And more importantly, why were there still clothes on _Derek_?

Hooking his fingers through the other man's belt loops, Stiles hauled himself up to a sitting position. His lips roamed ridged abdominal muscles, wet, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses left everywhere as he worked on the buttons on too-tight jeans. Fingers trailed through his brown locks, muscles twitching beneath his mouth, hair tugged to pull his head back so he was peering up at the alpha, dull red eyes staring down at him. His own flashed gold in response, a pleased growl vibrating up from Derek's chest before he shook it off, effectively silencing himself.

"This is about you," the older man stated in a sexy rumble that went straight to Stiles' cock, hips bucking awkwardly where he was sitting.

"Want you naked," he responded with a plea, popping the next button open. "Please."

Derek let out a noise eerily close to a whine, fingers threading through the hair on either side of Stiles' head, leaning down to connect their lips. The omega finished unbuttoning his jeans, fingers slipping inside the waistband of his boxer-briefs then sliding around to the back where he shoved them down and cupped his ass. With a tug, he fell into his back, hauling the older man down on top of him.

The jeans were shoved down as far as Stiles could reach, winding up midway down Derek's thighs. A gasp escaped the younger man at the feel of another hard length against his, the heat of it causing him to shiver. Shit, Derek was hot all over, his higher temp making Stiles feel like he was burning everywhere their naked flesh touched, scorched in the best way possible.

But he would gladly burn alive and turn to ash if it meant he got more of naked Derek on and inside him.

Hips rolled together, cocks sliding from precome, Derek's releasing more due to his alpha nature. Whines escaped Stiles' mouth, the other man's lips repeatedly grazing against his in a never-ending tease. Derek's name was a beg, a plead, a desperate cry for more as he tried and failed to find a grip on flexing back muscles.

The alpha nodded, understanding what Stiles couldn't say, rising up and climbing off the bed. Which definitely _wasn't_ what Stiles wanted, what the fuck?

But then Derek shucked his pants and his underwear and stood beside the bed completely naked and yeah, _that_ was what the omega wanted.

His eyes became glued to the older man's groin, taking in the sight of the hard length located there. It was flushed red, shiny with copious precome, jutting out proudly. And while it wasn't the first one he'd seen in person—thank you, awkward locker room changes after gym and practice—it was the first hard one and he had a difficult time imagining that it got any bigger or thicker than that.

At least outside of porn.

Hell, it was bigger than some of the ones he'd even seen _in_ porn. 

His pubic hair was neatly trimmed and Stiles had a brief flash of the word “manscaping” before everything completely left his head as Derek climbed back on the bed, kneeling between his spread legs. The omega cocked his legs up, feet planted on the mattress, fingers gripping the sheet on either side of him as his breathing became erratic. His eyes roamed the man kneeling before him, drinking his fill and still thirsty for more. Because Derek was a specimen that should be used as a diagram of what the ultimate male looked like. Because he was a work of art that should be hung in a museum for all to admire. Because he was the epitome of beauty and perfection and he was staring down at Stiles like _he_ was the ultimate and the epitome and the work of art.

Derek's hands cupped his knees, slowly sliding down his inner-thighs, pausing before he reached his groin. He licked his lips, letting out a shaky breath, eyes flashing red as he took in the omega's hard cock and leaking hole, peering up at him through half-lidded eyes. “May I?” he asked, voice rough, shaky.

Stiles nodded, not entirely sure what he was asking permission for and not really caring. It was dangerous, he knew that, warning bells and self-defense classes and omega orientations ringing through his head. Always get consent, always know what you're getting yourself into, always make sure your alpha gets explicit permission before doing _anything_ , that way you aren't taken advantage of. Because omegas were impressionable, susceptible to an alpha's every whim, their very nature creating them to be the perfect docile partner for the aggressive take-charge alpha. A certain tone of voice and an omega will do whatever is asked of them, easily commanded and pushed around. Despite multiple laws being enacted that now makes it a crime to order an omega around, that has it covered under Mate abuse statutes, that allows an omega to press charges against an alpha for ordering them to do something they don't want to, it still happens.

For every crime, there's a criminal. And omega's were far too easy a prey to pick on.

But Derek wasn't like that. Derek had proven he could be trusted, had proven he wouldn't pull such shit. If Stiles wanted to, he could say “stop”, “red”, “safeword”, any of that shit, and Derek would immediately pull back. Stiles could ask what was going on, what they were doing, and Derek would explain it all in graphic detail—for better or worse. Stiles knew this, trusted Derek because of it.

And because of that trust, he didn't ask.

An awed smile formed on the alpha's face and he peered down at the younger man's groin once more, teeth sinking in to his bottom lip. With a gentle push, he folded the omega's legs back, Stiles gripping them to hold them in place. Derek settled on his stomach, palming the other man's cheeks, massaging them, spreading them apart to put his gaping, leaking hole on display. Stiles' breathing became shakier with anticipation, remembering how it felt to have those fingers inside him, hoping like hell for a repeat performance.

Only that's not what he got.

Leaning down, Derek pressed a gentle kiss to his hole, making him gasp, hips jerking away in surprise. Green eyes flicked up to watch his face, to make sure it was okay as he cautiously lowered his mouth to his hole once more and kissed it again.

Stiles let out a whine, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he realized what the alpha really wanted to do, what was actually about to happen. Sure he'd seen tons of it in porn, had watched omegas thrash and cry out as alpha's ate them, and he'd fantasized about it plenty of times, but he'd never really been given the opportunity to do it.

Until now.

Until his Mate.

A sudden wave of self-consciousness washed over him, mind filling with a million and five worries. Was he clean enough down there? Did it matter that he hadn't showered since the funeral pyre? Did he taste okay? What if it he tasted horrible? What if Derek hated it?

A tongue traced along his crack, from the base of his spine to his perineum and all thoughts left his mind as he gave himself over to the sensations of it all. The wet muscle flicked over his rim before the flat of it lapped at him and he groaned, digging his fingers into the back of his thighs.

“Fucking hell, you taste good,” Derek rumbled, diving back in and lapping at him more.

A shaky gasp was Stiles' response, lifting his head to peer down at the alpha, the tip of his tongue flicking over his hole in a teasing fashion. “Fuck, shit, fuck,” he muttered, moaning, slamming his head back against the pillow.

He could feel the older man grinning against him, whiskers being rubbed against either cheek and causing sparks of pleasure to burst over the sensitive flesh. Sufficiently marked with beardburn, Derek delved back in, lapping at his hole before sliding his tongue inside and flicking it around.

The omega cried out at that, eyes flying open, a hand slamming against the mattress as he swore loudly. “Oh my _god_!” he yelled, shoving his hand through his hair. “Oh god, Der, don't stop.”

A satisfied hum vibrated through Derek against him, making him shiver, hole being licked all over. He speared his tongue and fucked it inside, bobbing his head up and down as he thrust it in and out. Stiles moaned loudly, groan-tinged laughs leaving him at the pleasurable sensation.

“More,” he whined. “More. Der, fuck, eat me, _fuck_.”

Derek sealed his mouth around his hole and sucked, drawing some of his slick out and swallowing it. He watched as the alpha's eyes flashed red then rolled to the back of his head, moans muffled between his pale cheeks. “So fucking good,” Derek panted out before lapping at him more aggressively and sucking at him once more.

Stiles' hips began rocking, rolling up to meet the other man's mouth, keening as that tongue slipped inside him once more. He felt the pad of a finger rubbing at his rim, massaging, relaxing it before the digit slipped inside and a second finger rubbed at the pucker instead.

“You have no idea how fucking amazing you are,” the alpha commented, pressing his lips all over his cheeks, nipping the fleshy globes, sucking marks that left within moments. “Could do this all day.”

“Not gon' stop ya,” Stiles slurred, moaning as the second finger slipped inside and both digits began scissoring him open. “Give you 'spress permiss'in ta do it.”

Derek chuckled, hot breath ghosting over his hole and making him shiver. The fingers hooked, finding his prostate pretty much immediately and pressing against it, making Stiles' cry out.

“Fuck!”

“Turn over,” Derek ordered gently as he slipped his fingers up and rose back up to his knees.

The omega laid there shaking for a moment before clambering over, limbs feeling like they were full of jelly and barely functioning. He flopped onto his stomach with an “oomf” before instincts had him rising up onto his knees, arching his back as he presented.

A pleasure-filled growl left the alpha and Stiles' wolf practically purred with pride, the human part of him preening just as much. Hands gripped his cheeks and pulled them apart, his hole kissed sloppily before a finger on either hand slipped inside to hold him open. Derek's tongue joined in, licking at his rim, lapping at his slick, making him whimper and moan.

Stiles felt shaky in and out, completely overwhelmed with everything. His head felt like it was spinning despite the fact that it was simply laying on his forearm, his other hand reaching back to bury his fingers in Derek's hair, using it to ground himself in some way. Because he felt like he was flying apart, being taken apart piece by piece, all because of the male behind him giving him pleasure unlike that which he'd ever felt before. Hell, he didn't know it was possible to feel that good, for things to be that intense, yet it was happening.

Should've known it was gonna happen though. Because _Mates_.

His hand slipped free from the alpha's hair, falling onto the bed before wrapping around his cock, not wanting to stroke, caught between needing to come and wanting it to last forever. A hand gripped his hip to steady him, barely aware that he'd been rocking back and forth, trying to press himself closer to the older man and his talented mouth. Two fingers pressed and rubbed against his prostate, and it was only a couple jerks of his cock before he was crying out, shooting onto the sheet beneath him. His mouth hung open as he gasped, heaving, trembling all over. His knees finally gave out and he fell onto the bed, still twitching and coming, fingers still held inside of him.

When it became too much, he batted at the other man's forearm, Derek taking the hint and slipping his fingers out. The alpha crawled up, hovering over him, nosing at the side of his neck. Stiles tilted his head to the side to give him more access, letting out a satisfied hum at the pleased rumbling growl the older man let out, eyes closed and sleepy smile on his face.

Only to remember...

He opened his eyes and peered back at the other man, reaching up to slide his fingers through his hair once more, relishing the feel of the silky—if not slightly sweat-dampened—strands sliding between his fingers. “You?”

A finger trailed between his crack, grazing over his hole in a barely there sensation that was just enough to make him jerk and gasp at the sensation. “Can I?”

“Mm?” he asked back, still slightly sleepy post-orgasm, arching his back and jutting his ass out. “What?”

Derek gently gripped his legs, pressing them together before nudging between them with the head of his cock. “Can I?” he repeated, voice more reedy this time, rougher with need.

Stiles nodded, licking his lips, feeling his slick between his thighs. Combined with the copious precome still leaking out of Derek's cock and it was the perfect lubrication, the alpha's dick easily sliding between his legs.

The older man groaned before lowering himself, gently laying over the omega with a leg cocked up for leverage, arms wrapping around his leaner frame. He began moving immediately, thrusting at a fast pace, entire body trembling as he nuzzled and scented his Mate. Stiles wondered if maybe Derek needed this as much as he did, if his emotions were just as wracked and fucked up after the night they'd had, only for the thought to fly out the window as he felt a pulsing at the base of Derek's cock, his knot forming. The omega could feel the heat of him between his legs, the head pressing against the back of his balls with every inward thrust, his knot filling and plumping.

It wasn't long before Derek was pressing between his legs and holding there, gasping harshly against the sensitive part of Stiles' neck as his body stiffened above him. He whined out the omega's name as he spilled between the sheets and the younger man's dick, the first spurt of what Stiles knew would be a long orgasm for him. He internally preened at the knowledge that he'd gotten the older man off, that he was able to make him come like that, the satisfaction dimmed slightly with the knowledge that Derek was coming but not inside him or even on him, that he wasn't being marked or claimed or anything like that.

Reaching back, he threaded his fingers through Derek's hair once more, scratching at his scalp as his Mate shook and whined, breathing hotly against him. It didn't matter if it wasn't in him, Stiles decided. Derek felt good and that was all that mattered.

Closing his eyes, he let that be enough.


	20. The Past.

It was a long time before Derek stopped shaking and his knot began deflating, allowing him to recover. They rolled over so Stiles was on his back, Derek halfway draped over him, a leg and an arm slung over the leaner frame as long arms wrapped around him. The alpha laid his head on the younger man's chest before moving up it slightly, nuzzling his neck and jaw, hand rubbing up and down his side as his arm carefully avoided contact with his stomach.

Or rather, the huge mess on it.

A sad sigh left Derek as he trailed a finger through the come streaked on the omega's lower belly where some of it had managed to reach, scent turning way too sad for post-orgasm times. "You have no idea how badly I wanna rub this into your skin," he murmured, staring down as his hand moved to the younger man's thighs where more of his seed had spilled. Stiles spread his legs to give him better access, grinning as his finger traced random swirls in the mess. "I'm dying to mark you up even more and make sure my scent can never be washed off you."

Stiles shuddered at the words, his wolf letting out a noise that sounded a lot like a purr. And honestly, the human part of him kind of wanted to purr as well. He was snuggled up to a gorgeous alpha— _his_ gorgeous alpha—covered in his come and his scent, still basking in the afterglow of their orgasms. Life at that moment was good.

He stretched, smiling when the other man grumbled at the movement, long fingers scratching through black hair to make up for it. "I want you to do it, too," he admitted, pressing his lips to the top of Derek's head.

The older man froze all over before letting out a whine that was more wolf-like than human, nuzzling behind Stiles' ear then pulling away, the younger man instantly feeling cold both literally and metaphorically. He sat up with his back to the omega, spine stiff, arms loosely wrapped around his knees. But his every muscle was tensed up once again, melancholy and agitation flooding his scent.

"We should wash up," he stated, voice rough. "You can have first shower."

A snort left Stiles, hand rubbing his forehead as he tried to catch up with the extreme one-eighty that'd just been pulled. He should've expected it though. Hell, he'd even been warned about it, Laura's words from their after dinner clean-up the night before coming back to him.

Dropping his hand onto his stomach, he stared at the ceiling, swallowing hard. "Laura told me last night that you were a self-sacrificing idiot," he informed him, catching sight of Derek's head hanging off slumped shoulders. "I didn't know what she meant, but I think I get it now." With a sigh, he pushed himself up until he was sitting back against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him. He shuffled around until he managed to get the sheet out from under himself, covering his body up to his chest with it. His arms wrapped around his torso both to hold himself together and to ward off the chill that was causing goosebumps to spread over his skin, the dried sweat on his flesh and his omega nature making him cold. "You think she knew Stu wasn't your True Mate?"

Scratching at his jaw, the alpha nodded, clearing his throat. "She probably suspected, yeah. Harder to lie to a twin than anyone else. Especially when your twin has been saying for years that they're Mate-less and fine with it and are never gonna settle down with anyone."

Stiles' wolf whined, but he ignored it. It wasn't anything new that Derek hadn't wanted to meet or Mate him. Yeah, it still hurt like hell and he kinda wanted to punch the guy in the face for it, but it wouldn't change anything. And eventually one day, he'd accept it and move on. Maybe he'd end up Mated anyway, to some other alpha who wasn't with their Mate for whatever reason or maybe just didn't have one to begin with. And he'd live a full, happy life with them, buy a house, get a dog, start a family, the whole nine.

Maybe.

When the pain in his chest at that thought subsided and the thought of being with someone else didn't make him wanna claw his own face off.

Shoving that hypothetical aside, he couldn't help but see the parallels between the two sets of twins, the similarities between Derek and Stu's way of thinking. Stu hadn't been interested in Mating, even before they'd turned sixteen and began having Dreams. Dating? Sure. Settling down in a long-term relationship? Doable. But a full-on Mating wasn't something he wanted and he'd been pretty adamant about it.

Made the shock of his email regarding his Mating to Derek all the more...well, shocking.

“I get it,” he commented lowly, staring at his tangling fingers, pulling his legs in close and folding them under the sheet. He dropped his hands to his lap, the linen falling to his waist and he shivered once before continuing. “Or at least, I get Laura's side of it. Stu had told me he was Dream-less and that True Mates was an idiotic concept only fools bought into and that any sort of Mating and Claiming Bite was simply just society trying to ensure that everyone does their duty of reproducing, despite the fact that some of us physically can't.”

Derek snorted, shoulders jerking with it. “Sounds like something he'd say,” he muttered, smoothing his hair down at the back of his head.

He nodded in agreement, feeling that familiar ache in his chest at the thought of his brother. He thought of the hundreds of conversations they had regarding Mating, how Stiles was being an idealistic idiot and Stu was being a cynical douchelord. Romance vs Societal Standards, True Love vs Omega Oppression. Stiles had pointed out Claiming Bites weren't needed to keep their dynamic down and it seemed to be the only thing they ever agreed on when it came to Mating.

So while he understood his brother's point-of-view—even if he didn't fully agree with it—he had no clue why Derek would feel the same way. There could've been a million reasons why really and if Stiles was to find any sort of peace with the fact that his Mate didn't wanna be with him, he needed to know.

“Why didn't you ever wanna meet me?” he questioned, voice slightly rough, thick with the lump of emotion in his throat. “I mean, meet your Mate and actually, ya know, _Mate_ them? And you can't just say because I deserved better, okay?” he declared, leaning forward so one elbow was resting on his knee, pointing at the other man with his free hand. “'Cause that's some bullshit. You're a good guy, a good alpha, and it doesn't get much better than that. Or better than you.”

Derek actually visibly cringed at that, scent turning guilty and disgusted. But Stiles had the feeling that disgust was aimed at himself, that it was all inward. “You wouldn't be saying that if you knew the truth,” he muttered, scratching at his jaw again.

He frowned at that, wondering what the hell he was talking about. Sure, people had skeletons in their closet, some bigger than others, in both skeleton size and closet. But he highly doubted anything would change his mind about Derek.

Minus him being a homicidal maniac or a rapist or a so-called “Traditionalist”, which was basically a fancy way of saying dynamist alpha prick who thinks omegas are meant for fucking, cleaning, and raising the kids.

Those things, yeah, he'd definitely think twice about Derek being a good guy.

“Tell me the truth, then,” he requested, figuring there was nothing to lose. The worst that could happen was he was told 'no' and he wound up snooping on the internet and found a whole bunch of not so flattering rumors and gossip bullshit that definitely didn't make his Mate out to be all that great of a guy.

Not that stupid gossip blogs were to be believed about, like, anything. He had enough experience to know that gossip was ninety-nine-point-nine percent bullshit.

The alpha sighed before scooting back on the bed, not stopping until he was against the wall, head resting on it, legs stretched out before him. He—unfortunately—grabbed hold of the sheet and draped it over his lap in a semblance of unnecessary modesty considering what they'd gotten up to a mere half-an-hour before, his hands laying limply on of the white linen, and he looked utterly defeated before he even began to fight. Stiles resisted the urge to snuggle up close, to hold his hand, rub his shoulder, any means of comfort. Not only was it not his place—despite his wolf's whines of argument in his head—it most likely wouldn't be very welcome.

Which fucking sucked.

But it wasn't because it was Stiles or anything, but because of Derek himself. Laura's words regarding him being a self-sacrificing idiot came back to his mind and Stiles got the feeling he would deny any comfort solely because he believed he didn't deserve it. Just like he stupidly believed Stiles deserved better than him.

Bull.

“You remember what I told you about Paige, right?” Derek began, voice rough, gravelly, thick. Stiles nodded, recalling their conversation from the diner over Derek's first love and how he'd been convinced she was his Mate before she was killed in the attack. “Well, while I was with her, I met this beta named Kate.”

Stiles frowned, the name ringing a bell in his head, but he couldn't quite remember why.

“She came on to me, flirted with me, asked me out, and I said yes.” He paused to let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head against the wall, refusing to look at Stiles. “I cheated on the female I believed was my Mate.”

The omega's eyebrows raised, his head seesawing as he weighed his options. Okay, so he cheated once. Not a biggie, especially not when Derek wound up being wrong about who his Mate was, not when Stiles considered the fact that he _was_ Derek's Mate and it was pretty much impossible to cheat on a Mate, especially when the Bond was completed.

Not that they'd ever complete their Bond.

Or even start it.

“All right,” he commented, nodding his head, scratching at a sideburn. “That's bad, but it's not too terrible or anything.” And it wasn't. Not when compared to all the extremes Stiles had thought up over what could've been so bad that Derek believed he wasn't worthy of Stiles—as insane a thought as that was.

“That's not all of it.”

Oh.

“I told her info about my mom, her work schedule, when she had Meetings with people, what she was working on,” he went on, eyes fixated across the room, unseeing. “I thought Kate was interested in Meeting with her to discuss omega rights, 'cause she had a little sister that was an omega.” He let out a humorless laugh, lips curving up in a sardonic smile. “Turns out that was a lie. Only family she has is an older brother that's a beta like her.”

Stiles remained silent as he watched the older man, as he studied his profile, the rise and fall of his adam's apple as he swallowed hard before continuing.

“Kate was convinced she and I were Mates, but I still believed Paige was it for me, so I told her we had to stop seeing one another. I already felt sick with guilt and had started to grow suspicious of her true intentions for being with me and really, I should've ended it sooner. She told me she understood and to take care and I thought she was okay with it, ya know? But—” He paused, shaking his head, disbelief and regret coloring his scent.

The omega felt a sinking feeling in his gut, much the same as he had the day before while listening to Stu. It all started adding up his head: Paige's death, Derek's indiscretion, Kate's conviction.

It was a volatile mix of dangerous chemicals and it was all gonna blow soon.

“She killed Paige first,” Derek choked out then cleared his throat. “Kate wanted her out the way so we could be together. My dad and several S-Dubs were killed trying to protect the rest of the family and the town.” He licked his lips, eyes shining, still unfocused as they stared off at nothing. Derek's face was haunted, ashen, a slight tremble racing through his body. “Kate was maniacal, feral, screaming that Talia wasn't meant to be State Alpha and that I belonged to her and that nothing and no one was gonna stop us from being together. It took four men and half a dozen tranqs to take her down and even then she was still snarling about how she didn't finish her mission.”

In all honesty, Stiles felt sick. Not at Derek though. No, in his mind, the alpha was a victim, just as much as Paige and his dad and those S-Dubs. He was sick at Kate, over Kate, because of Kate. If he remembered rightly, Derek had been fifteen and Kate was twenty-six at the time of her arrest. Eleven years. And while age gaps did exist at times between Mated pairs—like the eight years between himself and Derek—the elder of the two always held off until the younger was legal and consented.

But Kate hadn't.

Kate had slept with a minor.

Kate had used him to get to his mom.

Kate had caused the death of so many people and had been pissed she hadn't killed more.

“None of that was your fault,” Stiles murmured before continuing in a stronger voice. “Kate used you, she, in all technicality, raped you 'cause you were underage. She manipulated you into getting info with sex, playing on your hormones and teenage sex drive. You're not culpable for any of this.”

Derek snorted in disagreement, shaking his head. “I could've said 'no', but I didn't,” he stated harshly, finally turning to look at the younger man, eyes hard and brow pulled in a scowl that was once more aimed at himself rather than any person. “If I hadn't cheated on Paige, then—”

“Then Kate would've found another way to get the info she wanted,” Stiles cut in, finishing it for him. “Kate was psychotic, okay? Insane, and a bitch as crazy as that never would've given in after hearing the word 'no'. She would've broken you down eventually or found some other poor sap to prey on. Because that's what she did, she _preyed_ on you.” He shuffled around, sheet falling away, so he was facing the alpha fully, legs tucked underneath him, feeling the alpha's come go tacky between his thighs, hands held before him for emphasis. “Derek, you were used and manipulated by a woman who should've known better than to play with an impressionable minor.”

The older man shook his hanging head. “I don't believe you.”

“Well, you should, 'cause I'm fucking right,” he declared, folding his arms over his bare chest, only to drop them immediately after so he could gesticulate some more. “And furthermore, it's not proof that you're a bad person, just that you were a victim of someone else's game and some really shitty circumstances. So let go of all those thoughts that you're a terrible guy 'cause it's all bullshit.” He ended it with a shove to the alpha's bare shoulder, the other man barely being moved at the action.

The corner of his lips curved up in a weak attempt at a fond smile, small breath of laughter gusting out his nose. “Laura keeps telling me the same thing,” he admitted before his face fell and he returned to that self-deprecating, self-hating, self-angered grump he previously was. “But I can't.” Looking up, he met Stiles' eyes with a conviction that hadn't been there since he'd stated that he was gonna find the guy who'd killed Stu and end his life, too. “I don't deserve anything good after what I did and I sure as hell don't deserve you.”

“Bullshit,” Stiles argued, voice just as hard and just as full of conviction as Derek's had been. “And I'm gonna prove it to you.”

Shaking his head, the older man pulled away both physically and emotionally. His face completely shut down, becoming an emotionless mask, as his scent practically disappeared. Stiles wanted to punch the guy for it.

“We both need a shower and some sleep,” Derek stated roughly. “It's been a long night.”

Definitely gonna punch him.

Letting out a harsh sigh, Stiles tugged at his hair, wondering why the hell he was stuck with a Mate so fucking stubborn. Not that he had much room to talk, but he could be convinced to see differently if given the right motivation or argument. But Derek? He was completely set in his belief that he was this godawful person who'd done this godawful thing and only deserve godawful stuff. Bullshit. Such fucking bullshit.

And because of it, Stiles was stuck suffering.

“Fine,” he huffed, waving his hand in dismissal then clambering out the bed. His movements were jerky from aggravation and a shower sounded pretty damn good at that moment. The perfect excuse to get away from Derek before he gave in to the urge to punch him, not to mention he wouldn't mind washing the night away.

Without another word, he turned and headed straight for the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind himself.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stiles headed for the office-slash-guest room pretty much as soon as he was done in the shower and had wrapped himself up in a towel. He quickly dried off and changed into a pair of—now clean—flannel PJ pants and a dark blue tee with Captain America's shield on it. After tossing the used towel in the hamper in the bathroom, he stood in the middle of the room, looking at all the evidence taped to the walls, trying to find a link, but only really able to get that hashtag the _Agents of SHIELD_ TV show kept using: “ _ItsAllConnected_ ”.

Very fucking unhelpful.

Not sure what else to do but knowing he had to get started somewhere, he pulled down a few pages from the wall about his mom's family tree then grabbed his brother's MacBook, setting up shop in the middle of the room on the floor. Pages were spread around him, pen in his hand, another behind his ear, laptop on his crossed legs as he set to work translating passages.

Derek found him like that not long after, smelling fresh and clean from his own shower. He leaned against the door frame, arms folded over his chest, ankles crossed, hint of amusement in his scent and curving up his lips. “Don't suppose there's any way I can convince you to get some sleep?”

Stiles didn't bother looking up, just continuously glanced back and forth between the screen and the paper he was holding up. “Nope,” he answered, popping the “p”.

“Stu was the same way when he got fixated on something. Probably what's covering this room right now.”

He froze at that, swallowing hard, that ache in his chest coming back to the forefront of his mind. Shit. He'd forgotten how similar he and Stu could be when it came to shit like this. Except Stu usually kept all his obsessive research in neat files on flashdrives—a habit that clearly hadn't been broken after he left home—and Stiles...well, he pinned shit up. Everywhere.

Usually red string and/or tape was involved to connect things, but he hadn't quite figured out the connections between any of this yet. And he hadn't found any red string either, just some twine in a junk drawer in the kitchen that just didn't feel quite right for use.

“You find anything yet?”

Snapping himself out of it, he shook his head and sniffed, glancing at the page in his hand as he tried to remember what it was that he was doing and where he'd left off. “Not yet,” he grumbled. “Just that I come from a long line of alphas on my mom's side and I demand to know where shit went wrong to make me, Stu, and her all omegas.”

“You know there's nothing wrong with being an omega, right?” Derek pointed out, straightening up.

“Oh, I know,” Stiles clarified. “Most of society and all of its laws don't know that though.”

The older man snorted, nodding in agreement. “That's why my mom's tryna change shit. But that's a convo for another day. Why don't I make us some coffee since it doesn't look like either of us is going to bed any time soon?”

A small smile formed on his as he looked up at the other man for the first time, taking in the black mesh basketball shorts and gray v-neck he was wearing, damp hair messily shoved up in a semblance of its usual style. “Sounds good.”

The expression was mirrored on Derek's face as he let out a small “good” of his own before turning and padding his way to the kitchen.

Another paragraph of useless translations later and Derek had returned, handing Stiles a mug of coffee that was—after a quick taste test—made pretty damn perfectly. He gave the alpha a grateful smile and thanked him, carefully sliding the laptop onto the floor and stretching his legs out on either side of it.

“Okay, so I'm thinking all of this is related somehow,” he said out loud, pinching the bridge of his nose as he fought eye fatigue and gathered his thoughts. “It has to be, otherwise Stu wouldn't have kept it all together on the one flashdrive like that, that's not how he operates.” Dropping his hand onto his lap, he sipped at his coffee as he glanced around, noting Derek resting on the edge of his desk with his ankles crossed, his arms folded, and his own mug of hot and caffeinated up by his lips. “We just need to find the missing link. All of this, all these pages and paragraphs and photos? It's all important, it all leads to something so huge that Stu actually believed his life was in danger.”

The older man's brow furrowed. “Did he really say that?” At Stiles' nod, he put his mug behind him on his desk and wrapped his arms around himself. “Think, uh. Think I can watch that video now?”

Stiles gave another nod, figuring it would only help. “It's the flashdrive on his desk marked with a one.”

Derek gave him a quick head bob in acknowledgment and rose up from his position, striding to the other desk. It wasn't long before he was back in the seat for his own, headphones in his ears and video playing on the screen.

Not wanting to see any of it, Stiles buried himself in his translating, back hurting from his position but not caring. This was important. Like, _beyond_ important. There was something there in his family's history, something he was missing, something that was the link he needed. But it still out of his reach and his eyes were crossing and his head felt weirdly light and heavy at the same time. He was so close yet everything still felt a million miles away.

It was a long five minutes before Derek let out a swear and tossed his headphones to the side, laptop slamming shut. He clenched his fists behind his head as he stretched then roughed them over his face repeatedly. His scent was full of heartache, loss, guilt, anger, disgust, and Stiles was pretty sure he'd smelled the same way after having watched the video himself.

Rising to his feet, Derek turned so he was sitting in the chair backwards, folded arms over the back of it as he repeatedly shoved his hand through his hair. “I can't believe he didn't tell me about the Dreams,” he murmured. “Or that he knew the alpha that'd been stalking him.”

Stiles tapped a pen against his knee, nodding as he chewed his lip. “Yeah, me neither. Especially considering how many law enforcement agents he knew.”

“Maybe he thought he was protecting us by keeping us out of the loop.”

“Maybe.” He kept tapping the pen, turning his head to the left to glance at all the notes he'd taken on Stu's death. Despite the clues he'd hidden leading to the flashdrives and whatever the hell it was that they contained, Stiles couldn't help but be pissed that the guy couldn't have taken the time to hide a description of the stalker alpha somewhere, or at least given them a better starting point than “Male alpha”.

He thought of Jackson's mention of a phone call that had freaked Stu out, wondering how exactly he was supposed to get ahold of that info without any real access to anything.

Anything, but Derek.

Who had full access to _everything_.

Or at least had at one point, until his sister took him off the case.

But he'd still have a better chance of somehow managing to obtain the info than Stiles would.

Feigning a casualness he wasn't entirely feeling, Stiles peered up at the other man with a curious look on his face, acting as though a thought had just occurred to him. “You checked Stu's phone when you found it, right?” he questioned, pen now being used to point at Derek. “Photos, texts, emails, phone records?”

The S-Dub nodded, scratching at his jaw. “Yeah, and the only unknown number was from that text he sent to you. Everything else was pretty standard.”

Stiles nodded as though taking the info in, while internally he was kind of spazzing out. If the number had freaked Stu out but hadn't pinged any red flags for Derek, then clearly the killer was someone Stu had known and was regularly chatting with. Major fucking breakthrough!

That he had to keep to himself.

Because he couldn't tell Derek, not without ratting out Jackson for giving info to a civilian and withholding it from investigators. The guy was in enough trouble as it was and that would only land him an extra reaming and wow. Who would've thought a day would come where Stiles _didn't_ want Jackson to get in trouble?

Fuck, his life had _really_ been flipped around.

“You get anywhere with that translating shit?” Derek asked, changing the subject as he stood up once more and moved to the pages above his desk.

“Not really,” Stiles answered, peering down at it and glad to be on a different topic. “I mean, other than a whole lotta alphas, there is literally nothing sticking out about her family. Kind of a dead end there.”

The alpha let out a non-committal “hmm” and nodded, still staring at the wall. “And what about this tree?”

“The Nemeton,” the younger man reminded him. “Not entirely sure about that. Only interesting thing I found in that—other than the whole ritualistic murder thing—” he amended, waving his hands around. “Was that my mom was apparently on some committee to further protect it and have some sort of barrier put around it so no one could mess with it and accidentally awaken it.”

Brow furrowed, Derek peered over his shoulder at him. “The Nemeton Protection Group?” he double-checked then fully turned to face Stiles, shaking a finger as he gathered his thoughts. “I think I remember my mom talking about that. She wanted to have walls built around it with electrical charges, but the State Senate wouldn't agree to it, just a lame chain link fence.” Facing the papers again, he looked over them more rapidly, yanking one down and scanning it as he turned back to Stiles. “Ah! There!” he proclaimed, practically stabbing the paper as he pointed at it. “' _State Alpha Talia Hale met today with Nemeton Protection Group, led by former Beacon County Alpha Mieczyslaw Blass—Blaws—Blashk—_ Yeah, I have no clue how to pronounce this. B-L-A-S-Z-K-I-E-W-I-C-Z.”

“Blash-ke-vich,” Stiles muttered absently, his eyes going wide a second later in a delayed reaction. “Wait, Mieczyslaw Blaszkiewicz?”

The older man just stared at him blankly. “If you say so,” he pandered, stepping over and handing the paper over.

His eyes scanned over the page, the very first sentence the one Derek had been trying to read. And there it was, in black and white.

What the fuck?

“That's my maternal grandfather,” he stated, hands dropping as he stared up at the other man in confusion. “He's the one I was named after.”

“Gotta love family traditions, huh?” Derek deadpanned as he lowered himself to the ground, grabbing a free page off the floor and looking it over, sneer forming in confusion at the words that were most likely unpronounceable to him.

He ignored the remark, still stuck in his own bewilderment at what the paper had told him. “What the hell was that about him being a former Beacon County Alpha? Shouldn't that be Natalie Martin's family?”

A shrug was Derek's first answer, followed by a sniff. “Didn't you say your mom's family was full of alphas.”

“Yeah, in dynamic, but not—” He cut himself off as realization hit him and he stared blankly ahead at nothing before letting out a swear.

Derek stared at him with a raised eyebrow, watching as Stiles scrambled up to his knees and began shoving papers around, trying to find the pages he needed. “What is it? What're you looking for?”

“Family trees,” he answered somewhat frantically, still pushing things around. “There were two of them.”

Stiles found one buried underneath a page he was trying to translate—which turned out to be nothing but stories about farming in Poland—Derek finding the second soon after and handing it over. Carefully moving the MacBook out the way he laid the two pages side-by-side, glancing back and forth between them.

“Holy shit.”

A family with a lot of alphas wasn't uncommon, since the alpha gene was more dominant than any other. Alphas breeding with alphas were bound to produce other alphas. But every now and then, an omega was born, a latent gene from some great-great-great-times-a-million grandparent or another, effectively ending a line of nothing but alphas.

Which was exactly what happened in the Blaszkiewicz family.

One family tree was in landscape format, showing siblings and cousins and distant relatives, more of a family forest than anything. But the other was portrait style, up and down, just one direct line, only showing one child per generation.

The oldest child.

The _alpha_ child.

Who had, in turn, actually been labeled as an “ _Alpha_ ”.

“Your family were the Beacon County Alphas,” Derek murmured in amazement, drawing the same conclusion Stiles had.

“Right,” Stiles breathed out, slumping down onto his ass. “Until my omega mom was born. And since she was an only child and any other possible Alphas had moved out of the county or were too old, the position was moved to another family.” Rising to his feet, he strode over to the bookshelves and the piece of paper he'd left, thinking it was unimportant, snatching it up. “' _The Davies family was one of the founding families of Beacon County and another line of pure alphas, all the way up to the last born descendant, Lydia Martin._ ' They would've been entrusted to take care of the county. After my dziadek retired from the position, it went to the next Alpha of age in the next family, Joshua Davies, the father of the current Beacon County Alpha, Natalie, who became a Martin through Mating.”

“But that's only supposed to be temporary in a sense,” Derek pointed out, brow furrowed. “It's only until the original family has an alpha born to them or is Mated into the family. Your dad would've been next in line.”

“Unless he turned it down,” Stiles suggested, the other man seesawing his head in concession. “He kept saying he has no idea how Alpha Martin does it and that there's no way he could handle the pressure of that position. Being sheriff is stressful enough.”

The older man snorted and muttered out a “no kidding”.

Nodding like a bobble-head, the omega chewed on his bottom lip, eyes scanning the wall of Nemeton info above Derek's desk, mind whirring at a million miles an hour as he tried to put it all together. “Did the Nemeton Protection Act ever go through?”

Derek rose to his feet and strode over to the wall Stiles was staring at, head moving around as he tried to find the page he needed, pulling it down when he found it. “Yeah. It states that only the County Alpha has access to it and that anyone who wants to gain admittance needs to go through them first.” Lowering the paper, he looked over at Stiles with inquisitive eyes and a furrowed brow. “What if someone wanted to get to the Nemeton to tap into the power it's supposed to have?”

“And they tried to use my mom to get it,” Stiles added, knowing where Derek was going with his thought. “She said someone was after her, but we all wrote it off as another delusion. Someone might've known that her family were the true Beacon County Alphas and when she refused to give them access, they killed her.”

“It's plausible,” the S-Dub admitted, putting the page back where he'd found it. “Stu _did_ say the alpha that was after him was after something bad and he'd almost had it figured out.”

Nodding, Stiles began pacing back and forth, fingers drumming against his fist as he held it in front of his chest. “The alpha being Stu's Mate could've just been a huge cosmic coincidence,” he pointed out, thinking that if he was gonna have such shit luck that his Mate wound up being Claimed by his twin, then it was possible for his twin to have just as shitty luck.

Sitting on the edge of the desk again, Derek folded his arms and crossed his ankles, eyes locked on the omega walking back and forth across the room. “Maybe the alpha's next plan was to try and gain access by Mating into the family that had true rights to the county, but Stu was already Mated and therefore off-limits.”

“Doesn't explain why he killed him though,” Stiles pointed out, chewing his bottom lip as he continued to pace. Flashes of that pseudo-vision popped in his head, the alpha's growls about Stu sticking his snout where it didn't belong causing a shiver to race up his spine. “Stu was close to figuring out this guy's plan and we both know there was no way he'd go along with it and help. Chances were he was trying to get all the info possible and find out _exactly_ what it was before he took it to you or your mom or whoever to stop this guy, but the alpha found out and killed him for it when Stu refused to cooperate.”

“Agreed,” Derek stated, scratching his jaw as he glanced around the room. “That's why Stu left all this info behind and left it for you. He knew you'd match his way of thinking and solve all this.”

He paused in the middle of the room, staring at the pages above Derek's desk. “We know the alpha was after access to the Nemeton and was killing anyone who got in his way,” he summed up, folding his arms over his chest. “We just don't know _why_ he wanted the power from it and what the next step for him would be.”

Peering over his shoulder at the papers behind him, the alpha nodded in agreement, scent determined. “I think we need to find out more about this Nemeton. Maybe the answer lies somewhere in there.”

“Certainly wouldn't hurt to check,” the younger man agreed, stepping over to the wall.

Between the two of them, they took every page down, spreading it out on the floor, info on the Blaszkiewicz family put to the side on the couch. Refills of coffee were made and they settled on the plush carpet, Derek grabbing his own laptop as well, digging in and hoping for the best.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Several hours passed and Stiles knew more about three-fold murders than he ever wanted to. He knew more about Druids and Darachs than he wanted to. He knew more about sacrificial murders and blood rituals than he wanted to.

He also was jittery as fuck thanks to five cups of coffee and the fact that he hadn't taken his ADD meds since the morning he left Beacon Hills.

Derek rose to his feet, stretching up to the sky and Stiles had to fight to keep his eyes on the screen rather than stare at the strip of bare skin revealed by his shirt riding up with his arms. A fight he lost, whiskey orbs flicking over to glance at it every now and then.

No one's lower abdomen should be that attractive.

Letting out a grunt, the alpha dropped his arms with a slap to his thighs then put his hands on his hips, staring down at the mess on the floor. “You getting anywhere?” he questioned, pushing aside a paper with his toes.

Stiles shook his head as he rubbed at his eyes. “I know you need to hit someone upside the head with a blunt object then choke them with a garrotte _then_ slice open their throats, in that order.”

“Seems a bit like overkill.”

He stretched his back as he groaned out “it's a three-fold murder.” With a sigh, he slumped. “Pretty much supposed to be overkill.”

Derek let out a sigh of his own then smeared his hand down his face. “Well, considering Stuart only had his throat slashed open, we can rule out him being a sacrifice.”

“He doesn't fit into any of the categories anyway. Not a warrior, healer, philosopher, guardian, or, uh. Virgin.” He glanced at the other man out the corner of his eye, noting the way the tip of his ears went red.

Awkward.

Clearing his throat, the alpha glanced around the room, almost as though he was looking for an escape. “Right,” he began, nodding once. “I'm getting cabin fever and my wolf is getting restless and we're clearly getting nowhere.” He peered down at the younger man, eyebrow cocked in question. “Feel like going for a jog?”

Stiles was slightly taken aback at the random suggestion, but it made sense, not to mention sounded like a damn good idea. Sliding the laptop to the side, he stretched his legs out in front of him, flexing his ankles and wiggling his toes. “Sounds awesome, but I didn't pack any running gear.”

Derek shrugged a shoulder. “Borrow some of Stu's. You guys are pretty much the same size, right?”

That had the omega's brow furrowing. “Stu never exercised,” he pointed out. “His work-outs were going down the stairs for more coffee or trekking to his next class.”

The alpha snorted. “Explains why he was such shit at it in the beginning.” Gesturing to the door with his head, he stepped closer to it. “C'mon. Let's get you some gear.”

Standing up, Stiles stretched, a relieved groan leaving him. He glanced around the room one more time, deciding leaving for a run was the best idea. It would help clear his mind, allow him to become somewhat refreshed, and when they came back, they'd have fresher eyes and possibly find something they missed before.

A plan and some hope in mind, he followed Derek out the office-slash-guest room and to the master bedroom to get changed and stretch his legs.


	21. The Trap.

Stiles borrowed a sleeveless X-Men tee, a pair of basketball shorts, and a pair of boxer-briefs—since he'd learned the hard way that running in boxers was a terrible fucking idea—from his brother's stuff, as well as a pair of running sneakers before the two of them headed off. Derek drove them to the second ring, parking in the same clearing as he had two days prior—shit, had it only been two days? Felt a lot longer—and led Stiles through the forest on their run, purposely avoiding a certain area.

It was peaceful, uneventful, and exactly what Stiles needed. The alpha held back enough to allow the younger man to keep up, but didn't coddle or baby or make him feel bad about it. It felt good to be able to stretch his legs like that and even though his wolf wasn't exactly pleased about not being able to take over and get some exercise itself, it seemed placated by the compromise. Stiles made up for it by chasing a squirrel up a tree, Derek fondly shaking his head at the action.

He wasn't sure exactly how long they stayed out there, only knew that what little light was seeping through the trees was getting dimmer. He figured it had to be about late afternoon, that they'd run for an hour or so, and while he felt physically exhausted and parts of his body were hating him, he was glad for it. A shower, a quick nap, and he'd be good to go.

They took it easy on the trip back, walking at a sedate pace, Stiles yammering about the history of Marvel Comics, with Derek chiming in every now and then and pretty much reiterating how fucking perfect he was. They were a few miles away from the SUV when they heard it, a strange repetitive honking. Both of them froze, neither breathing as they listened, heads snapping to one another as they seemingly figured out what it was at the same time.

“That's the Toyota's alarm,” Derek pointed out, voice calm but heartbeat frantic. The sound of it only caused Stiles' own heartbeat to race even faster, his wolf whining and barking, knowing something was wrong. Holding a hand in front of him, the alpha gave him a serious look. “Stay here. I'm gonna check it out.”

Stiles snorted, pushing his arm away. “I can take care of myself,” he muttered indignantly, stepping forward only to have Derek move in his way.

“I'm sure you can,” he replied honestly, hands on the omega's upper arms and forcing eye contact. “But it would make _me_ feel better if you stayed here and stayed safe.” When Stiles opened his mouth to argue further, he held a finger up. “ _Don't_ make me order you,” he requested, almost pleading with the younger man to not make him do it.

He let out a huff as he folded his arms over his chest, ducking his head as he nodded. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Derek sighed out, kissing the top of Stiles' head before turning and jogging off in the direction of the car.

Stiles took a half-step forward, fully intending on following him, agreements be damned, only to stop. The alpha that killed Stu was still out there and if his brother was right, Stiles was his next target. If the guy really had murdered his mom before going after his twin, then it was clear that this wasn't a man who could be stopped. He probably had a plan C, D, E, and F now that A and B were out the picture and there was a damn good chance Stiles was involved in at least one of them. It really was better that he stayed put and stayed safe.

Didn't mean he wasn't happy or relaxed. Hell no. He was pacing back and forth in that same spot, chewing on what little nails he had left, worrying himself sick. Derek was an alpha, he was ex-military, he was an S-Dub, he was fully capable of taking care of his damn self.

But what if the alpha was stronger? What if he hid and blindsided Derek? What if the alarm was just a distraction? What if the alpha had gathered friends and Derek was walking into an ambush? What if...

A snarl filled the air, followed by a menacing growl, and Stiles stopped pacing, head snapping to the noises. Focusing his hearing in that direction, he could pick up the sounds of a fight, growling, snapping jaws, slashing claws, bodies being slammed and howls of pain being let out.

He started walking towards the sounds on automatic, determined to help, determined to make sure Derek was okay, but the older man's voice stopped him dead.

“Run!” he called out, gasping, coughing wetly. “ _Run!_ ”

Without hesitation, Stiles turned on a heel and did just that.

He followed the scent trail he and Derek had left behind, figuring it was a good way to not get lost, before realizing that the alpha would be doing the very same thing. No, it'd be safer to try and throw the guy off, try and trick him somehow.

At a small creek, he turned left, running along in it until the water got ankle deep and started slowing him down. He moved to the right bank, running alongside it before veering right and heading that way.

He ran with no real plan, changing directions suddenly in the hopes of keeping the alpha on his toes and slowing him down. His legs were aching, lungs burning as he struggled to get air in, but still he kept on going, not slowing down. He thought of Coach Finstock yelling at him during suicides at lacrosse practice. He thought of Stuart doing this very thing and losing his life. He thought of his dad and how he couldn't leave him alone to mourn an entire family. He thought of Derek.

He took a sharp left, slipping on wet leaves. He took a sharp right, tripping over a high root. He took another left, stumbling as his legs grew weaker before he slowed to a stop inside a familiar group of trees.

Including one with a hollowed out trunk, perfect for hiding in.

Oh shit.

Without even realizing it, he'd managed to take another route to the scene of his brother's murder, the scents of fear, death, and anger still potent even days later. He spun around, breathing heavily from more than just the exercise and the adrenaline and the fear for his life. The place was overwhelming, assaulting all his senses, and he felt his chest tighten and saw his vision go black around the edges.

The sound of an angry roar snapped him out of it, head jerking around to the direction he'd just stumbled in from. In the distance, he could hear twigs snapping, leaves crunching as someone charged closer, as the alpha gained ground. He had a horrible sense of deja vu, that pseudo-vision playing in his head, how Stu had experienced all this before his life had been ended.

But not Stiles.

Turning around, he noted the direction he'd entered the space in with Derek two days prior, mind churning with an idea. If he kept running that way, eventually he'd hit the clearing and possibly Derek. They could get in the SUV and get away to safety, maybe even call for back-up from the other S-Dubs. He was pretty sure he'd spied a CB radio in the Toyota when he got in it his first day in Oak Creek.

Mind made up, he took off in that direction, slipping on wet leaves before finally getting his feet under him. Adrenaline fueled his every move, determination to find Derek—and find him _alive_ —his motivation to keep going. His brother didn't leave him all that shit just for Stiles to die the same death in the same place. Fuck that.

He raced forward a few dozen miles before feeling something snap around his right ankle and he fell to the ground, howling in pain. The air was knocked out of him as he faceplanted, stars swimming in his vision as his head ricocheted from the impact, his entire front throbbing. But none of it compared to the searing pain around his ankle, the sharp bite of something digging in, the snap of a broken bone, the wetness of blood pouring out.

Gingerly, he turned onto his back, glancing down at his body, only to let out a horrified yell. Around his ankle was a bear trap, his foot completely caught in it. Blood was soaking his sock, covering his leg, the leaves around his foot, and he gagged at the sight of it. Frantically, he sat up, tried to pull his foot closer, only to yelp in pain when it dug in more, a chain rattling as it emerged from its hiding place beneath leaves. He scooted towards it instead, grabbing the two sides of it to try and pull it apart, only to wind up being completely unsuccessful. His teeth grit and his face scrunched up in determination, breath held in his lungs and leaving him on a prolonged yell as he tried again and again to pry it open, the iron remaining steadfast.

The sounds of crunching leaves had his head jerking up and he caught sight of Peter stalking forward, dressed in another low v-neck and dark jeans. Only now his white shirt was splattered with blood, the same with his face, clawed fingers dripping with the red stuff. His eyes were glowing crimson, narrowed as they stared Stiles down, lips pulled back in a feral sneer to display a full set of fangs.

The sight of him had Stiles doubling his efforts to get free, fingers slipping on the metal, frantic cries leaving him as his eyes teared up. He wasn't going out like this, no fucking way. He was getting out, he was getting free, he was gonna find Derek and...

Oh fuck. All that blood on Peter. Was Derek even still alive? Had the asshole killed his own nephew?

Nausea had his stomach rolling, fear had his chest constricted, and his every frantic inhale pulled in the scents of anger and blood and violence. He gave up on the bear trap, grabbing the chain itself and yanking, trying to free it from whatever had it attached to the ground. He could feel it give slightly, the hook pulling free from the mud. A slight moment of joy was felt, lips curving up every so slightly before his face steeled back into a hard look of determination and he yanked even harder, throwing all his strength into it.

“I must say, I'm getting rather sick of chasing wayward omegas through the woods,” Peter drawled through his fangs, sending a chill down Stiles' spine.

Because he knew that voice, that garbled growl and the lisp through fangs.

“ _I told you, you shouldn't run_.”

Oh fuck. It was him.

Stiles pulled twice as hard, feeling the hook slip free of the mud. He couldn't run, couldn't even stand up, but he wasn't going down easily. Turning, he crawled on his hands and knees as fast as he could, dragging the chain behind him. His chest was heaving from fear and exertion, his blood pumping loudly in his ears, his skin prickling with danger. He should've gone after Derek even after he'd been told to stay put. He should've suggested they invite some of his S-Dub buddies on the run with them. He should've never come to Oak Creek in the first place.

No.

The chain was grabbed from behind, yanked hard and causing him to fall onto his stomach. He screamed out a “ _No!_ ”, arms reaching forward to try and get a grip on something, _anything_ as he was dragged backwards.

“Omegas are so much better when they just do as they're told,” Peter snarled and Stiles fought harder against the pull.

He felt the heat wafting off the alpha as he crouched behind him, a foot on either side of his legs, before a hand wrapped around his neck and yanked his torso off the ground. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat against the hot palm pressing on his esophagus and he whimpered, tears falling as he sniffed.

Peter pressed his lips against his ear and Stiles cringed, fighting in vain against his hold. “Now I'm gonna teach you a lesson that your brother couldn't seem to get through his thick head.”

" _I'm gonna show you what happens to little omegas who shove their snouts where it doesn't belong and don't obey their alphas._ "

His eyes widened and he gasped, terror seizing every part of him. He opened his mouth to let out a scream, a yell, a howl, _something_ , only to not get any of it out. His head was slammed against the hard ground and he lost consciousness immediately.

~*~*~*~*~*~

His first thought when he woke up was that he was fucking cold.

His second thought when he woke up was that he was fucking gross.

His third thought when he woke up was that he was fucking hurting.

Stiles let out a groan, slowly coming to awareness, mentally taking stock of everything. Okay, laying on his back on what felt like dusty cement, probably in a basement. He felt sticky and dirty all over, most likely due to dried sweat he hadn't showered off. Oh, and faceplanting in the woods, that would definitely add to the ick level. His chest felt tender but was healing, his head was throbbing and his ankle _killed_. What the fuck was going on?

The memories started rushing back then, the running through the woods, being chased by Peter, his head slammed on the ground, the _bear trap_.

His eyes shot open at that and he jerked upright into a sitting position, bruises on his chest twinging at the sudden movement, but he ignored it, focusing solely on his legs. The trap was still there, still locked on his right ankle, and he let out a frustrated cry as he tried to pry it open again.

Okay, okay, he was okay. He had a night-terror like that once, being trapped in a basement with a bear trap on his ankle. This was probably just another one of those. Lifting his trembling hands, he counted his fingers.

Ten.

He felt through his sneakers as he counted his toes.

Ten.

He pulled his foot closer, finding no give, scooting closer to it as he had in the woods, finding a warning label on the side.

That he could read.

Shit. Not a dream. Definitely awake.

Frustrated tears began rolling down his cheeks and he sniffed loudly, the noise echoing off the walls. He took in his surroundings then, noting the chain on the bear trap was now locked to a hook on the wall directly on his right, all four of them—plus the ceiling looking more chiseled than built. A small window was located near the top, darkness spilling through and he wondered how long he'd been out.

Several feet behind him was a set of bars much like in a jail cell, the door open but no one inside. To the far left was a table covered in papers he couldn't see, a rolling corkboard to the side of it littered with print outs and book pages and scribbled notes. Stiles recognized the Blaszkiewicz family tree, a map of Beacon Hills, info on the Nemeton.

Shit. Stu had been right.

Metal creaking caught his attention and he jerked his head to the right, seeing a large metal door opening and Peter stepping into the room. Although stepping wasn't quite accurate. He _sauntered_ with the lethal grace of a jungle cat, the swagger of an egotistical prick, the raised chin of a victor.

Stiles glared at him, noting he'd changed his shirt and had washed up, his fangs and claws put away, a smirk on his face that made his blue eyes twinkle. He had that same thought about how Peter would be considered incredibly handsome if it weren't for that undercurrent of malevolence and egotism that was radiating off him at every moment. He suddenly thought of Derek, whether or not he was okay, or even alive. He wouldn't put it past an alpha who'd killed his Mate to kill his own nephew. Peter was clearly a sociopath, had zero regard for life, only cared about his own endgame.

The asshole smiled at Stiles, stepping closer, and Stiles let out a low rumbling growl, feeling his claws expand. “My, aren't we feisty?” Peter drawled, seeming more amused than threatened. Which he probably was, since an injured omega caught in a bear trap and fixed to a wall didn't really pose a whole lot of danger.

Didn't stop Stiles from snarling at him though.

“Now, now, that's enough of that,” Peter chastised as though talking to a small child, pausing halfway across the room and tutting at him. “If you cooperate, then we'll both walk out of here much happier and better for it.”

Stiles snorted, shaking his head as his growls cut off. His head hurt even more due to the noise and the vibrations from creating it, his stomach rolling with nausea. He probably had a concussion, and the blood loss from his ankle was starting to make him woozy, his energy drained far too quickly.

“What do you want from me?” he asked weakly, laying on his side and propping himself up on an elbow, claws still out.

“You mean your big mouthed brother didn't tell you?” the alpha questioned, slight curl of the lips at the mention of Stu, before he smirked. “I want access to the Nemeton, and you're gonna help me get it.”

A humorless laugh left him at that, head barely shaking as it hung. “Why? Why the Nemeton? What do you need it for?” he inquired, hoping like hell Peter was the idiotic type of villain who loved to hear themselves talk and went on long boring monologues detailing their evil plan. He needed the time, needed those moments so there was a better chance of someone realizing he was gone and in danger and where the hell he was.

Wherever it was.

The older man looked perplexed by the question, smelled genuinely confused that anyone would ask that. “For its _power_ , of course,” he stated, tone making it seem as though it was completely obvious.

Which, okay, yeah it was. Stiles had figured out that the stalker alpha—who turned out to be creepy uncle Peter in a not-so-bizarre twist—was after the Nemeton for its power. Why else would one go after a giant dead tree stump? He just didn't know _why_ he wanted it.

Other than feed into his giant ass ego.

Not that it seemed to need any aid there or anything. Was doing fine on its own.

Stiles watched as Peter began pacing the room, not nervous or anxious, just a casual stroll back and forth across the enormous space. He sniffed, subtly trying to scent the space, the man he was trapped in there with. He smelled a whole lot of earth and dirt, leading him to believe he was underground somewhere—hence the window being so high up—stale blood that had seeped into the rock around them, anger and aggression. He figured this place was used to house feral wolves on a full moon and he shuddered against the violence still trapped within the walls.

“You see,” Peter began casually, drawing Stiles' attention back to him. “ _I_ was supposed to be State Alpha. _I_ was the one who was supposed to be in charge and have all the power that came with it. But since my sister Talia—” He sneered around the name, nose wrinkling in disgust “—was born a mere three minutes before me, I was screwed out of what was rightfully mine.”

The omega shook his head in disbelief, not only due to this egotistical jackass' belief that he'd been denied something he was supposed to have, but also because of the sheer amount of fucking _twins_ there seemed to be in Oak Creek. Peter and Talia, Derek and Laura, him and Stuart, Aiden and by default Ethan.

“My original plan involved Kate,” Peter went on, unaware of Stiles' recent zone out or the sharp inhale he made at the mention of Kate's name. “We had teamed up to take Talia down, had come up with the perfect plan to get rid of her once and for all, and then we would share the power and benefits of me being State Alpha and she being my Mate.” He sighed in disappointment, shaking his head as he turned on a heel of his cowboy boots, clacking his way across the room once more. “But she screwed it all up by falling for Derek, becoming _obsessed_ with him, and she made a move before we were ready, effectively blowing the whole thing to smithereens.” He leaned his head towards Stiles, sad look on his face, features pulled in disappointment and disapproval. “That was the last time I decided to work with a partner.”

Turning, he picked his story back up, voice almost jaunty as he spun his words, like he was describing a fun vacation to one of those Sandals Resorts in the Bahamas or wherever the hell they were, rather than a tale of deceit and murder.

Total sociopath.

“It was during my travels that I heard about Nemetons and the one located in Beacon Hills, about all the power it possessed.” His grin returned, a malevolent edge to it, eyes twinkling with evil delight. “I knew it would grant me the ability to take my sister down, to become more powerful, more stronger than her, and take back what belonged to me. I just needed to gain access to it. That's where your family comes in.” At that, he turned his wicked grin on Stiles.

The omega felt his blood run cold and a shiver race down his spine. His heart was pounding in his chest, anxiety rushing through his blood because he knew where the story was going, knew what was up next. Knew why Stu had included their mother's medical records in all his research.

“See, I tried wooing that Alpha Martin at first, but turns out, she doesn't actually have any access to the Nemeton. Only the _True_ Alpha line of Beacon County did. Besides, she was an alpha, too, and I can't go sharing my power or position with anyone. So I did some digging and found out that a one Claudia Blaszkiewicz was in charge, but already Mated to another. I tried talking to her, reasoning with her, but alas, it was no use. Not much of a surprise considering she was certifiably insane.”

Stiles felt his heart drop, tears spilling over the edge of his eyes and running down his face. Nausea churned his stomach and he only just managed not to puke right then and there. Because town gossip had been fucking right, his mom really _had_ been murdered—just not for the reasons or by the person they believed. But because some big headed motherfucker who thought he was entitled to something he wasn't.

“The crazy bitch resisted me,” Peter sighed out, shaking his head as though it was a damn shame. Stiles watched through narrowed, angry eyes as he walked over to the table on the opposite side of the room, resting on the edge of it with his ankles crossed and his arms folded casually. “And she went on telling everyone that I was threatening her, that I was out to get her. 'Course everyone thought it was part of her sickness, but still. I couldn't take the chance that someone might actually believe her.” He let out a laugh and shook his head like it was this absolutely preposterous thing, this bewildering idea so far-fetched it was unfathomable.

And he was right to think that way. Because no one had believed her. His mom had been crying out for help for so long and everyone had just thought it was another delusion. They could've saved her, could've allowed her a more peaceful ending, maybe drifting off to sleep surrounded by her boys. But no, it'd been a violent, painful end, either killing herself or being killed by another, a car crashing into a wall and cutting her already short time shorter.

Stiles ducked his head down, sniffing, watching as tears dropped onto the dusty cement beneath him. He felt sick, wracked with guilt, hating himself, the doctors, everyone for not believing his mom. But there was nothing he could do now, no way to change what happened. She was gone and that was that.

Didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell to know why she'd died, to learn that you were wrong.

Peter let out a pleased hum, hands clasped in front of himself as he grinned happily. “That plan didn't work out so well, but it led me to my next one, and Stuart. It was quite a fortuitous turn of events that he would turn out to be my True Mate. Shame he didn't quite share my vision though. Oh well, lucky for me he has a twin and therefore is replaceable. And it only seems fair that I steal Derek's Mate from him as he stole mine from me.” His smirk disappeared, face falling into a pout of sorts, brow furrowing in disapproval and disappointment. “Honestly, I'm getting rather tired of others stealing my things.”

His wolf growled long and steady in his head and he turned the full force of his glare on the alpha prick. He was so callous, so careless, so...heartless over the fact that he'd taken someone's life. And not just any someone, but his _Mate_ , the one being on the planet that had been created just to complete him, balance him out, make his life better and worth living. But Peter had destroyed all that and his only comment was a petulant complaint over people taking his stuff.

Stu wasn't stuff. He was a _person_. Or at least he had been. And he'd been a Mate, a brother, a son, a friend, an employee. He'd been so many things to so many people and the one person he was supposed to be the most important being to had slashed his throat out, torn his Claiming Bite with his teeth, and raped his corpse in a final act of claiming his property.

Fuck, it made Stiles sick.

“He was your Mate,” he spat out weakly, pausing to sniff. “How could you just kill him like that? How can you be so heartless and cruel and just not care?”

In a flash, Peter was across the room, crouched in front of Stiles, hand cupping the bottom half of the omega's face in a bruising grip. Stiles felt his cheeks getting pressed against his teeth, spit flying as he hissed against the pain through lips that were pursed through no action of his own. Glowing red eyes met his whiskey ones, anger and agitation rolling off Peter, and he scowled down at the younger man as though he'd personally offended him.

“Because Stuart was an insolent, uncooperative little shit,” he hissed out, eyes fading back to their normal blue hue. “He was an insult to omegas everywhere. Omegas are supposed to be quiet and obedient, always doing as they're told. Everyone knows the best place for them is on their back or on their knees and the only use for their mouth is to pleasure their alpha. Other than that, they should keep their traps shut.”

Stiles glared at him, reaching up with clawed hands to scratch the other man's forearms in an attempt to get away, but they were quickly captured and used to pin him down on the floor on his back, Peter on all fours straddling him.

“Stuart, much like yourself, was a freak of nature,” Peter went on with a sneer. “He rebelled against his proper place, against his true nature, and while I wouldn't have minded breaking him of those nasty little habits, he was threatening to tell Derek of my plans. I couldn't have that, not when I was so close. So I took care of him, just like I had your mother. I didn't want to, you understand, but it had to be done.”

The alpha moved so both of Stiles' wrists were clasped in one hand, using his now free one to trace down the side of the younger man's face. Stiles tried to move away from the touch, grimacing, whimpering as a claw lightly scratched along his jaw.

“And then you showed up and I knew I'd been given a second chance,” Peter said almost reverently and Stiles felt sick. He tried kicking up with his left leg, but the older man moved so his knee was pressing down onto his thigh, holding his lower half still as well. All the squirming in the world couldn't free him from the alpha's bruising grip and he let out a groan of frustration, tears falling once more.

“I'm gonna enjoy training you to my liking,” Peter stated, feral grin on his face as he stared down at him.

Stiles spat right in his face, glaring angrily. “Go fuck yourself.”

The alpha closed his eyes upon impact, a low rumble of an angry growl vibrating up from his chest. Head tilting to the side, he slowly reopened his eyes, revealing glowing red irises, scent fully pissed off and agitated and Stiles had fucked up. But he didn't care. If this asshole thought Stiles was just gonna roll over and let himself be taken advantage of, used for some supposed access to a potentially powerful fucking _tree_ , kept around as nothing but a fucktoy and a cum-dumpster, then this fucker was sorely mistaken. He wasn't going down without a fight. He was gonna rebel, gonna punch and kick and scream and claw and bite. He knew it wouldn't end well for him, but it was better than a lifetime of being nothing more than Peter Hale's property.

Calmly, Peter lifted a hand and wiped away Stiles' spit, smearing it on the omega's dirty shirt. “I'd much rather fuck _you_ ,” he drawled, salacious smirk spreading across his features and causing a wave of dread to wash over Stiles. “I can tell you're still unclaimed, that no one's fucked you yet.” Leaning down, he took a deep inhale at the crook of the younger man's neck, letting out a satisfied hum. “Yes, still virginal, despite the fact that my nephew's scent seems to be all over you.”

Stiles froze at that, at the reference to Derek. Shit, they'd tried so hard to be discreet and it still didn't matter. People could still tell, _Peter_ could still tell.

Although really, it might not matter. There was a chance Derek was dead, that Peter had killed him, too. There was a chance no one knew Stiles was missing, had been taken, or where he'd been taken. There was a chance that Peter was gonna get everything he wanted and no one could stop him because it would be too late.

He was screwed. In every godawful terrifying form of the word.

“But that's alright,” Peter continued, hand back to tracing the outside of Stiles' face, saccharine smile on his face as he peered down at him with cold blue eyes. “It's not embedded enough to where it can't be covered up with mine. And as soon as I claim you, knot and Bite you, you'll know who you belong to and no one can do a damn thing to change it.” He let out a wicked laugh, grin growing victorious and proud.

Whiskey eyes went wide as the implication of those words sunk in. They weren't leaving that room with Stiles' virginity intact. Peter was planning on Claiming him right then and there, on the dirty ground, not caring about consent or willingness or any-fucking-thing else. Stiles was about to be raped, just like his brother, only he'd still be alive to feel every part of it, remember every second.

His efforts to escape redoubled and he began tugging at his arms, trying to pull them free from the hand still gripping his wrists. He kicked his leg as much as he could with it still stuck in that damn bear trap, tried to pull his left one free from the knee digging into his thigh. He wriggled his body, bucked and arched and fought with everything in him to try and get free.

Only to stop when claws were pressed against his throat.

He stared up at the older man, eyes wide, chest heaving from exertion and panic and fear. His face was sticky and wet from fresh tears, snot dripping from his nose, and his skin felt cold all over. His wolf was clawing at the surface, trying to take over but unable for some reason and Stiles couldn't help but think that he'd been drugged while he was out so Peter could prevent that very thing from happening. He was defeated, it was over. All that was left to do was accept his fate and hope that at some point he'd be presented with something he could use to end his life.

He closed his eyes as he sobbed, Derek's face appearing behind them, his green eyes sparkling, dimples on his cheeks as he smiled, showing off those bunny teeth, the reverent way he looked down at Stiles and called him beautiful.

“That's it,” Peter cooed, like he was talking to a well-behaved pet rather than an adult, claws still pricking at Stiles' throat but not piercing, not yet. “Don't fight it, just be a good boy and take it like you should. I'd hate to have to kill another Blaszkiewicz twin.”

His chest went tight, stomach rolling, bile rising in his throat. His luck was such shit that his twin wound up with Stile's True Mate and the guy had been perfect, while Stiles' wound up with the guy who'd been meant for Stuart and was a homicidal, sociopathic, egotistical, elitist asshole.

Stu might've been dead, but he was definitely coming out of this whole thing on top.

' _I love you, bro,_ ' Stiles thought as he closed his eyes, another tear rolling down his cheek. ' _I'm sorry._ '

Just as he said his final goodbyes in his head, a crash sounded out in the distance, metal clanging, rock breaking, and a vengeful roar was released, shaking the walls with its force.

The cavalry had arrived.


	22. The Goodbye.

The crash echoed down the hallway outside the room, metal rending and clanging, rocks falling and smashing, dust falling. A loud roar reverberated off the walls, shaking everything, rattling the table. Stiles felt it all the way to his core and he cringed, tugging at his still trapped arms to try and cover his ears against the awful racket. Part of him wanted to submit to it, to whoever was making that noise—because there was no doubt in Stiles' mind that it was an alpha, no one else was capable of roaring that loud and that fiercely—but he didn't want Peter to get the wrong idea, to think Stiles was submitting to him.

Not a chance in hell.

Peter let out a growl of his own at the commotion, turning his head to the door as his fangs lengthened and Stiles felt the prick of claws around his wrists, pressing into his throat. “I _hate_ being interrupted,” the alpha snarled, turning his attention back to the omega he still had pinned beneath him. “My apologies. Please forgive me as I take care of this minor inconvenience.” A saccharine smile formed on his face before he released Stiles and rose to his feet, facing the door and letting out an answering roar of his own.

Stiles let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, gasping so hard it hurt his throat. He quickly scrambled closer to the wall, pressing his back to it as he sat up, trying to stay out the way as whoever broke in raced closer. He could hear the thunderous sounds of several footsteps, more than one person rushing to the room. He hoped like hell it was the S-Dubs, that someone had figured out he'd gone missing and Derek was... in whatever condition Derek was in. He needed something to go right for once in his life.

With wide eyes, he watched as a figure charged into the room, barreling straight into Peter and tackling him to the ground. Snarls filled the air, the snap of jaws and slash of claws and it took Stiles a long moment for his stunned brain to process the fact that it was _Derek_ who was currently on top of his uncle and slashing at his chest. He was in full beta shift, ears pointed, sideburns elongated, brow more pronounced—and strangely enough without eyebrows. His jogging clothes were covered in blood, shirt ripped to shreds at the front, more blood splattered and smeared and dried on his face where minor injuries had already healed.

Derek was more animal than man, slashing at his uncle, roaring and snarling. Peter tried pushing him off but to no avail, overpowered by an alpha in a rage, almost feral in his attack. Wrapping a clawed hand around his throat, Derek slammed his uncle's head against the ground once, twice, Peter's eyes crossing in a daze as his mouth opened and shut. Choked sounds were coming from him, bitten-off begs and pleads for it to stop, but Derek was having none of it, slamming his head down once more. Peter went limp as he began losing consciousness and Derek lifted him up to deliver another blow...

“Derek, stop!”

The alpha's head snapped to Stiles at the sound of his voice, confusion on his animal-like features before he recognized the person who'd called out to him, what exactly it was that he'd said. Slowly he lowered his uncle to the ground, features shifting back to normal, blood still crusted and splattered on him. He was panting hard, chest heaving, and he looked down at the groaning man beneath him with disgust and disbelief and a strange sort of detachment that Stiles wasn't entirely sure what it meant.

Footsteps charged into the room, slowing down as they entered and Stiles looked over to see Boyd, Parrish, Aiden, and Jackson taking in the scene before them. Derek slowly rose to his feet, kicking his uncle in the side and making him groan again, coughing and sputtering up blood, glazed over eyes looking at the newly arrived S-Dubs.

“I want him arrested for assault,” he croaked, raising a shaky hand to point at his nephew.

Parrish cocked an eyebrow as he stepped closer to him, glancing back and forth between the two Hales. “I didn't see anything. There's no proof he assaulted you.”

“Listen, you son of a—” Peter began, rolling over to try and grab at the beta's ankle, but Parrish quickly stepped back out of his reach, staring down at the alpha as he fell onto his stomach with another groan of pain.

“Yeah, yeah,” the S-Dub muttered, waving over one of his co-workers, Jackson and Aiden rushing to his side. The three of them managed to haul Peter up, Parrish slapping cuffs on his wrists. “You're under arrest for the kidnapping of Stiles Stilinski, unlawful imprisonment, and endangering the welfare of an omega.”

Derek watched it with that same detachment, before quickly striding over to Stiles, ignoring Parrish as he read the other alpha his rights. Crouching down, he carefully cupped Stiles' face, concern etched in every line on his face and completely saturating his scent. “You okay?”

“He's the alpha,” Stiles informed him, voice as shaky as he felt, gripping the older man's forearms. “He's. It was him.”

His green eyes went wide before narrowing in anger and he peeked over his shoulder to the others. “Add the murder of Stuart Stilinski-Hale to the list of charges,” he order gruffly. “Call Fenris, have him meet you at HQ to get a DNA sample.”

Parrish nodded and gave a curt “yes, sir”, doing exactly what he was told. Taking charge, he had Jackson and Aiden haul a sputtering and objecting Peter out the room, Parrish sliding his cell out and dialing as he followed behind them.

Stiles watched them leave, relief flooding him at the knowledge that Peter was gone and couldn't get him. Only for that relief to dissipate as he felt a pop by his right ankle and he cried out in pain as he felt his skin pulling and tearing. Peering down his body, he noted Boyd prying the bear trap open, blood caking the metal. Stiles' skin had began healing around it, new wounds ripping open as it was pulled from around him, fresh blood dripping out from his leg. He felt woozy, dizzy, stomach rolling with nausea at the sight of it, black dots swimming in his vision.

“Stiles?” Derek called softly, turning the omega's head to him. “Stiles, stay with me, all right? You're gonna be okay.”

He shook his head, feeling wobbly, new footsteps entering the room. Someone grabbed the bear trap and slid it to the side but he couldn't see who. His vision was blurring, distorting, everything wavy and he felt like he was on a rocking boat in the middle of the sea during a storm. He felt adrift, his limbs floating, head too heavy to hold up on a noodly neck, and when someone jerked his leg to line the pieces of his broken bone up, he let out a howl of pain and promptly lost consciousness.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was his second visit to Oak Creek General Hospital in....

Yeah, Stiles had no clue how many days, what day it even was, nothing. Dim light was shining through the window of the room he woke up in, leading him to think it was maybe morning, possibly evening. He wasn't sure. The clock on the wall said it was about six-thirty so he went with believing it was morning. Six-thirty was too early in the evening for the sun to set in summer.

With a groan, he tried to sit up, only to feel dizzy once more and change his mind, slumping on the slightly raised hospital bed. He looked down at himself, noting the very attractive johnny he was in, the bandages around his wrists. His right leg was out from under the covers, ankle in a splint, bandages thankfully still white so the bleeding had stopped there. Feeling around, he noted a bandage around his head and a couple butterfly closures on his neck where Peter's claws had dug into his throat. He shuddered, the action causing bruises to twinge in pain, thinking of how close to death he'd come.

Inspecting the rest of the room, he noticed an IV drip attached to the back of his wrist, a band-aid on the crook of his elbow, and he wondered if they'd had trouble finding a vein on him. Then again, given how veiny his hands were, they probably hadn't. They should've just started there.

Then why the bandage there?

He shoved the thought aside, taking in the rest of the room. Standard beige walls that were clinical yet warm. Heart rate monitor beeping steadily beside him. TV hanging in the corner, couple chairs tucked against the left wall under the window, door to the bathroom on his right. He squirmed in bed, wondering if he had the strength and ability to go to the bathroom, only to realize that issue had been handled for him.

Thank god he'd been unconscious when they put that catheter in. Not something he wanted to experience.

The hallway door opened, momentarily allowing the sounds of the hospital flood in, sneakers softly padding against the linoleum floor as the new arrival stepped closer. A dark-skinned bald male appeared around the corner from the bathroom wall, goatee surrounding a dulcet smile, white lab coat covering green scrubs, metal clipboard in his hands.

“Good morning, Mr Stilinski,” he greeted his patient in a warm tone, stopping at the end of the bed. “My name's Dr Deaton. How are we feeling today?”

Stiles frowned in confusion, wondering if this guy was for real. He was in a hospital. How the fuck did he think he felt? “Sore,” he answered honestly, random bruises throbbing dully with pain throughout his body.

“Mm, I imagine so. You went through quite an ordeal last night,” he stated the obvious, making the omega snort as he read the file on his clipboard. “Your ankle was broken by the bear trap that was around it, but luckily it was a clean break and should heal within a couple days. You had a mild concussion, a few scrapes and bruises, but nothing that won't heal by the end of the day.” He flipped the front page back, eyes still locked onto his clipboard as he continued reading. “You _did_ however lose a lot of blood, but got lucky once more. Seems Captain Hale was a perfect match to donate.” Flipping the page back, he gave the patient the same dulcet smile, clasping his wrist in front of himself.

Stiles resisted the urge to snort and say “duh” at that last remark, remembering it wasn't supposed to be a “duh” thing. Fated pairs were always the same blood type. It was another reason why Mates were so perfect for one another, so they'd always have someone to donate blood or an organ or whatever.

But at least having Derek's blood in him now would explain why he smelled so strongly of the alpha and lower any suspicions.

Clearing his throat, he began fiddling with the edge of the blanket. “He's my twin's Mate,” he croaked out, throat sore from screaming and howling only hours before.

“Yes, I do believe that was noted in here somewhere,” Deaton stated, checking his clipboard once more before giving up. “Other than that, you're physically okay. We want to keep you one more night for observation though and to make sure that ankle is well-rested before we discharge you. You won't believe how many wolves believe they're fine after being released, only to push themselves too fast too soon and rebreak something.”

Stiles let out a non-committal “hmm” noise, knowing full well he was one of those wolves. But every kid out there believed themselves to be invincible and tested the limits of their healing abilities at least once. Wasn't his fault that he wanted to see if the splint would stop him from breaking his leg a second time when he jumped out the treehouse in the Stilinski backyard. Again.

Deaton gave him a knowing smirk, chuckling softly. “We'll definitely be keeping you an extra day.”

“Yeeeah,” Stiles stretched out the word, rubbing the back of his head. “Probably a good idea, Doc.”

“In the meantime, are you feeling up for visitors? There's someone here who wishes to talk to you.”

His heartbeat kicked up a notch at that, stomach filling with butterflies and anticipation at the hopes that it was Derek coming to check on him, to see how he was. Nodding his head rapidly, he coughed a couple times, then gave a “yeah. Yeah, sure.”

The doctor looked and smelled amused, checking the read-out on his heart rate monitor and making sure the IV drip was still working as it should before leaving, announcing he'd send them right in.

Stiles shuffled where he sat, smoothing down his johnny and the blankets, tugging at his hair to give it some semblance of style before realizing it was probably futile. His hair did its own thing on the best of days. Unstyled, after jogging, and after being pinned to the ground by an attacking alpha, and there was no hope in trying to contain it.

The door opened and his heart lurched with nerves. His fingers tangled among the edge of the blanket before he smoothed it out once again, scenting the air to try and get a whiff of who was entering, not smelling much past the disinfectants and clinical smells of _hospital_.

His heart sank when he saw who it was, Isaac rounding the corner, and he slumped back on the bed in disappointment before putting a weak smile on his face. “Heeey, buddy,” he greeted with a lightheartedness he wasn't entirely feeling.

Isaac gave him a “get real” expression, rolling his blue eyes as he grabbed a chair and pulled it over to the left side of Stiles' bed. “I know I'm not who you wanted to see. You don't have to try and hide it.”

“Yeah, no clue what you're talking about. I'm excited to see _you_.” Reaching over, he punched the other omega in the arm, getting an entirely unamused look in return.

“Bullshit,” he called it, lowering himself onto the seat, slipping a notepad and pen out of a pocket on his thigh. “I get it, all right? I do. He acts differently with you, like for the first time he feels okay being himself or something. Same thing happened with Boyd when he met Erica, then when Jackson and I met each other. I get it, it's cool.”

A frown formed on Stiles' face and he ducked his head to hide it, staring at where his hands began tangling in the blanket once more. He honestly had no clue how the hell he was supposed to react to that. The polite thing to do would be to thank him for understanding, but... But he and Derek had agreed to pretend like they were nothing to each other but brothers-in-law, that their Mate connection didn't exist. In this situation, he was supposed to deny it, to continue to act clueless about what Isaac was referring to. Only he'd get called out on it again and risk annoying the guy when he was being pretty cool about the whole thing really.

So he sat there awkwardly, staring at his tangling hands, wiggling the toes of his left foot and rolling his ankle around, fidgeting in discomfort at the situation he was put in.

Isaac let out a sigh, slumping in the seat, legs splayed open. “Yeah, I'm not gonna pretend like I understand why you guys are both being all—” He waved a hand around as though that was supposed to explain what he was trying to say. And strangely enough, it did. “But whatever. That's your deal. I'm here to talk about what happened with Peter.”

A relieved sigh left Stiles and he nodded, licking his lips, glad for the subject change. Was weird as hell to think he'd rather discuss the trauma he'd been through the past however many hours than talk about his and Derek's...whatever, but there he was, there _it_ was.

Getting comfy, he went through the entire story, starting with Derek suggesting they go for a jog through the forest of the second ring to get rid of nervous energy leftover from the funeral—a lie, but he managed to cover it smoothly and keep his heart rate steady, years of telling tales to his dad about recent shenanigans coming in handy. He went through every moment, gave every detail, told every word Peter had said to him about his plan to take down his sister and become State Alpha. He made sure to include his claims about being behind the attack of thirteen years ago, why he killed Stu, what he was planning to do with Stiles.

When he was finished, he slumped back on the bed, feeling drained. Residual adrenaline and nerves from retelling it had him shaking as he reached up to shove his hair back, his wolf whimpering in his head, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep for another day or five.

Isaac blew out a breath as he stared down at the notes he'd taken, flipping his notepad closed and shaking his head in bewilderment. “I dunno if the stuff about the attack on the Alpha Family will hold up in court since it's mostly hearsay,” he stated, slipping his notepad back where it belonged. “But I'm pretty sure they're still gonna try and tack that on to the list of charges Peter's facing. Which just got a whole lot longer after this.”

Stiles nodded to show he understood, hoping Peter would be in jail for a long, _long_ time. Then again, prison seemed too good for him. He highly doubted an asshole like him felt remorse, not when he'd willingly killed his Mate in order to kill his twin sister. But death seemed like an easy way out, too.

Fuck, he was glad he didn't have to make that decision.

“Where is Peter?” he asked, fuzzy memories of the alpha being hauled out that dungeon-esque room playing in his mind. “What happened to him?”

“He's locked up in a secret location with armed guards watching him twenty-four-seven,” Isaac said with a proud smirk, like he was personally responsible for making sure that happened. “He's not going anywhere until his Hearing. But considering all the evidence against him and with your and Derek's testimonies, he's not getting away with anything.”

“Good,” he replied, eyes narrowed, jaw working in anger. He hoped Peter rotted away in solitary for the rest of his existence, slowly becoming a shell of a man as he went insane from the loneliness, only his own thoughts to keep him company.

A small laugh huffed from the other omega as a knock sounded on the door and Stiles told whoever it was to enter. His wolf began yipping, tail wagging excitedly as someone padded closer, and he looked over just in time to see Derek appear at the corner, leaning against the edge of it. His heart stopped at the sight of him, noting a couple butterfly closures above his right eyebrow, a faded bruise on his jaw, random nearly healed scratches along his arms. His clothes had been changed, now sporting a set of borrowed scrubs, hair damp and disheveled from a shower and Stiles barely held back the jealousy he felt that Derek had been able to wash up but he couldn't yet.

Although he did feel less sticky. Maybe someone had given him a sponge bath?

Yeah, that wasn't awkward at _all_.

Isaac cleared his throat, reminding Stiles he wasn't alone with Derek, his head snapping over to watch the other omega rise up off the chair. “I'm gonna head back to HQ and type this up,” he stated, glancing at his boss momentarily before focusing on Stiles. “Glad you're okay, man.”

A small smile formed on his face and the two exchanged handshakes, Stiles thanking him before the curly-haired one left.

And left Stiles alone with Derek.

Speaking of awkward...

The alpha cleared his throat, pushing away from the wall before shuffling his way around the bed to the chair Isaac had just vacated. He pointed at it, wordlessly asking if he could sit, and Stiles nodded, wondering why he was even asking at all. It was like they were back to being strangers, like they hadn't spent two nights in bed together, like they hadn't been naked together, like they hadn't solved a murder and gone through a pretty fucking traumatic attack together.

He fucking hated it.

“Your dad called,” Derek began, bent over his knees, eyes fixated on where his fingers were steepled between his spread legs. “When you hadn't sent him any text updates or anything. Laura explained to him what happened and he's on his way here.”

Oh shit.

Stiles slumped on the bed, nervous breath leaving him. His dad was gonna be _pissed_. He already was for Stiles sneaking out to Oak Creek in the first place, but now he'd missed text check-ins and nightly phone calls and had nearly gotten himself killed because he was sticking his snout where it didn't belong, just like his dad always told him not to do. He was seriously fucking in for it.

But at the same time, he felt incredibly relieved. Because his dad being on his way to Oak Creek meant his dad was _okay_ , that nothing bad happened at that Meeting, that he'd been paranoid for no reason. Because he'd really fucking missed his old man and was desperate to look into the eyes of a family member, one that was still alive. Because he was homesick and since he couldn't leave yet, he'd have to have home come to him.

Because he was feeling pretty fucking childish stuck in that bed with his injuries and he wanted his daddy.

It hit him then just how close he'd come to his dad traveling to Oak Creek to identify his body, to take it back to Beacon Hills for a funeral pyre. He'd been seconds away from either being raped or using Peter's claws to kill himself, neither of which would've been a good outcome, but Derek and the S-Dubs had managed to arrive just in time.

With a curious frown, he turned to the S-Dub leader, noting how he still wasn't looking at him. “How'd you find me so quickly?”

Derek lifted his head, sad smile on his face, brows pulled in remorse and apology. “You're my Mate,” he rasped out. “I'll always be able to find you.”

Something clenched inside his chest, his heart beating faster. But he refused to let it go any further, refused to feel any joy out of the statement. Because it was Derek, the man who was still lying to everyone about who his True Mate was, the man who had told him repeatedly that they couldn't be together in that way, the man who once said he never wanted to meet his Soul Mate, much less actually get Mated to him.

Swallowing, Stiles licked his lips, fingers tangling in the covers once again. “But it still changes nothing, huh?” he mumbled, feeling slightly petulant and not really giving a damn.

The alpha nodded and scratched at his jaw, smelling reluctant and remorseful. “It's for the best.”

He let out a humorless snort, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. Their previous conversation over that very topic came back to him, Derek's reasons for thinking Stiles deserved better, the story he'd told about Kate and his belief that he'd helped her attack his family.

A belief Stiles had argued with.

A belief Peter had...

“It wasn't your fault,” he reiterated, hearing Derek scoff, watching him straighten up in his seat as he readied himself to argue. “Peter told me,” he burst out, cutting him off, stunning him quiet. “He told me that he'd teamed up with Kate, that the two of them were working together to kill your mom so he could become State Alpha. He was gonna Mate her or something after so she could share the glory, I dunno, but it was all their doing, all their planning. Peter's responsible for the deaths of your dad and Paige. Not you.”

Derek stared at him, gaping, shocked. Relief had flooded into his scent, followed by disgust at his uncle's actions, then grief over those that'd been lost. He sniffed as he turned to the side, scratching at his scalp as he let it all sink in. The room was silent save for the steady beep of Stiles' heart rate monitor and the rhythmic drip of his IV, a long moment of nothing happening, before the older man nodded and turned back to him.

“It still doesn't change anything,” he murmured, not making eye contact again. “You're still better off with me not in your life.”

Stiles opened his mouth to argue, only to realize there was no use. And not because Derek was too fucking stubborn and there was no way to change his mind, but because he was right. There was no point in them starting anything because it would never go anywhere, never really happen.

“We'd never work,” he stated lowly, frowning at his own hands, seeing Derek nod out the corner of his eyes. “There's no way I could leave my dad or Beacon Hills, plus I got school in Palo Alto. We'd never be anything more than long distance and that's no way to have a relationship.”

“I'm sorry,” Derek rasped out, sniffing once again, scent full of sadness.

Stiles' wolf whined loudly in his head and he fought his every instinct to curl up in the alpha's lap and comfort him. Because it wasn't his place, never really was. And he'd known that from the get-go, that anything that happened between them would be temporary and just that moment. They weren't built to last, never had been.

“ _Mates don't always mean happy ever after._ ”

“Don't be,” he croaked out, clearing his throat of the lump that had formed, feeling his eyes water at the knowledge of what this conversation was, of how it was more than just words and sentences. It was goodbye, it was everything that couldn't be said, it was all the things that never could be. “It's both of us, and neither of us at the same time really.” With a sigh, he scratched at his forehead with a finger. “It's the universe giving us one last middle finger. The asshole.”

A small laugh left Derek, his lips twitching up in a semblance of a smile before it disappeared. Rising to his feet, he stepped closer to the bed, leaning over to press his lips to Stiles' forehead. The omega's eyes drifted closed as he grasped onto the older man's tee, as he inhaled his scent and held it in his lungs, trying to burn it into his memory. Derek pressed his forehead on top of Stiles and the younger man felt wetness hit his cheek, unsure whose tear it was.

“Goodbye, Stiles,” he choked out, sniffing. “Take care.”

“You, too,” he breathed in response, biting back three little words that would change everything and nothing at all. “Bye, Der.”

With one last kiss to the top of his head, Derek left the room, and Stiles' life.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The sheriff showed up sometime after Stiles was served breakfast, immediately wrapping Stiles up in a bear hug that twinged some of the bruises on his torso. But the pain was worth it as he nuzzled his face into the crook of his dad's neck and inhaled his familiar scent, that comforting mixture of home and dad and alpha that only belonged to him.

“Thank god you're okay, Kid,” his dad murmured against his ear, kissing his cheek roughly before hugging him tight once more.

He clung tight to his dad's polo shirt, sniffing as relief flooded his every pore. His dad was okay, was safe, was _alive_. Stiles had no clue exactly how worried he'd been over his old man until that moment, the emotion having gotten swept to the side as he was busy dealing with everything else. But he didn't need to worry, not anymore. Because his dad was there and he was there and they were together again.

Half the Stilinskis, reunited and safe.

They slowly pulled apart, his dad taking the seat that Derek had previously been in, and Stiles didn't hesitate to ask how the Meeting went. The wince that his dad wore was more telling than anything and he felt his heart drop in worry.

“Turns out you were right about it being a trap,” he admitted, bottom teeth on display as he told his story. “Myself and a guard named Kinkaid had been discussing our shared concerns and apprehensions about the whole thing before deciding to sweep the place and we found a bomb hidden in the basement beneath one of the ballrooms, set to go off during the finale speeches that Alpha Hale was set to speak at. Turns out the whole thing was a ruse to lure all the Alphas away from the safety of their walls and fences. We were just lucky it was found before it was too late.”

Stiles let out a relieved breath, nodding in agreement, silently wondering if Peter had been behind that, too. At that point, he wouldn't put it past the asshole to try to have a plan E going while attempting plan D with Stiles. After all his failures, he needed to have the safety nets.

“So,” his dad began, drawing his attention. The sheriff sat back in his seat, arms folded casually over his chest. “Wanna tell me all about your adventures here in Oak Creek? Starting with how you managed to forge paperwork to leave town.”

“I plead the fifth on that one,” Stiles stated, innocent grin on his face before telling his dad everything, starting with his arrival at the first gate. He left out the part about Stuart's rape and his own near sexual assault, as well as him being Derek's True Mate and all the intimate details that came with it, but told the rest, including what he'd learned about his mom's death.

His dad looked torn apart at the mention of his late Mate, lips pressed into a hard line, brow furrowed, jaw set stiffly as his blue eyes became shiny with unshed tears. He cleared his throat and roughed a hand over his mouth, sniffing loudly before speaking. “We may have to reopen that case,” he croaked out, clearing his throat again. “Do some more digging, see if it wasn't as accidental as it seemed. Sounds like a case of negligent homicide.”

Stiles nodded, determination setting his features. “I'm ready to help with that,” he declared, bracing himself for an argument from his dad, for orders to keep his snout out of official police business.

The sheriff rolled his eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh, giving his son a nonplussed look. “How 'bout you worry about getting back on your feet first?”

The omega rolled his own eyes right back, huffing. “I'm fine,” he argued, ignoring the way it felt like a lie, especially as his wolf whimpered in his head.

~*~*~*~*~*~

As promised, Stiles was discharged the next day.

The night he'd spent in the hospital was uncomfortable and he'd gotten zero sleep thanks to a combination of the shit bed, lack of his pillow, and the broken ankle that made it impossible to roll over onto his side—which was how he happened to sleep, of course. His dad had slept like a baby—well, one that snored like a bear all throughout the night—making good use of a cot that a kind nurse had brought in for him.

Another x-ray had been taken of his ankle, Deaton declaring that it was healing well, but he still needed to stay off it as much as possible, which led to him being carted out the hospital in a wheelchair.

Completely undignified, no matter how much the doc insisted it was standard procedure. Guy could've at least given him some crutches.

Then again, given the last time he'd had crutches and the fact that he'd managed to further incapacitate himself with them, it was probably for the best that he not be given any.

All the S-Dubs plus Laura and Kira had gathered around outside the hospital exit to bid him farewell, Laura walking over with his duffel and pillow.

“I gave your dad the urn,” she stated lowly, sad smile on her face before she handed over the duffel. “Derek packed it up and gave it to me, but you might wanna check everything's there.”

His heart plummeted as he realized that Derek hadn't been amongst the crowd not because he was running late, but because he wasn't coming at all. Not that Stiles should've been all that surprised. They'd pretty much given their goodbyes to one another the day before and there wasn't really anything left unsaid—aside from a couple cheesy words that usually came at the end of every rom-com. But still, he'd been hoping he'd at least be able to _see_ him one last time.

He'd forgotten who he was for a moment and what shit luck he had.

Giving Laura a grateful smile, he unzipped the duffel and rifled around inside, finding everything was there. Including a manila file folder of all the info Stu had left and he'd printed off and highlighted. He wondered why he'd been given it, wasn't it needed for evidence against Peter, only to realize the flashdrives weren't amongst the things. Derek kept the original copies.

Still didn't explain why he'd given this set to Stiles. Unless he figured he'd want it to reopen his mom's case. Which he sure the fuck did. It might not have been enough to convict Peter of any wrongdoing, but it was enough to warrant further investigation.

Zipping his duffel back up, he sniffed and nodded, peering up at Laura from his position on the wheelchair. “Yeah, it's all here.”

His dad stepped closer and grabbed the duffel and his pillow, taking them to Lydia's car to pack it all up, and Stiles gave him a small thanks.

Laura still remained there, thumbs hooked in the back pockets of her dark skinny jeans, lips twisting in annoyance. “Derek said to tell you goodbye,” she ground out before crossing her arms and cocking a hip out. “Despite my repeated insistences that he do it his own damn self, but he's a hardheaded idiot and there's no getting through to him.”

Half a smile formed on his face and he let out a small huff of laughter. “Yeah, you told me something like that before.”

“Well, it still rings true,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. Her features grew sad then, eyes turning down as they peered at him, lips twisting in a sad smile. “Good luck with everything, Stiles. And call me whenever you need something, okay, no matter what. And come visit us sometime, all right?”

He simply nodded, not wanting to lie to her by agreeing out loud to any of it, not when he knew he'd never follow through. At this point, Derek was essentially an ex and talking to his family would be awkward as hell. Not to mention he really didn't have any connections to the Hales anymore, not now that Stu was dead. He'd pretty much broken up with all of them and any communication would just hurt, another reminder of all that could've been had his and Derek's situations been different.

Laura gave him a small smile before surprising the crap out of him by bending down and enveloping him in a tight hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Take care of yourself, Stiles.”

“You, too, Laura.”

With a final pat to his shoulder blade, she pulled away and straightened up, stepping to the side as she surreptitiously wiped beneath her eyes.

Erica was the next to walk up to him, ruffling his hair and handing him a familiar set of playing cards. “For when you get bored all laid up with that ankle,” she explained with a wink.

“Those are mine!” Cora objected from the sidelines, Erica rolling not just her eyes but her entire head, the brunette then just waving the whole thing off. “Whatever, I'll buy another pack.” She shook Stiles' hand and told him to take care before heading off to find her sister, Erica blowing him a kiss then stepping back, too.

Kira bounded over with Malia in tow, bright smile on her face as always, and Stiles wondered if anything ever got that girl down. “Good luck, Stiles,” she beamed, before her eyes widened and her face fell. “Not that you need luck or that anything bad is gonna happen. I just mean to take care. Not that you weren't already gonna take care of yourself, because I'm sure you were. It's not like you're constantly getting kidnapped by lunatic alphas who try to force you into their evil plan, but I still hope that everything goes well for you and that—”

“Basically,” Malia loudly interrupted, her Mate shutting her mouth with an audible click. “Goodbye, Stiles. Have a nice life.”

A sheepish grin formed on Kira's face as she shrugged a shoulder and nodded, slight flush on her face that she hid in Malia's shoulder as they walked off hand-in-hand.

Boyd, Aiden, and Braeden all shook his hand and wished him luck, Isaac doing the same and adding that it was nice to meet him. Jackson playfully punched his shoulder with a grin on his face before it fell, his scent growing serious.

“I'm sorry again, man,” he stated genuinely, getting a nod in return. “Tell Danny I said 'hey' for me? And have a good life, Stilinski.”

“I will,” Stiles replied, fully intending on passing the message along to the beta—as well as giving the guy an earful for not telling him Jackson was in Oak Creek and not a lunatic asylum like he'd been lead to believe. “And you have a good life, too.”

Jackson peeked over at Isaac at that, dimpled smile forming on his face, the omega ducking his head as he blushed and grinned right back. “Already do.”

Parrish was the last to approach him, dragging himself away from Lydia long enough for a goodbye, shaking Stiles' hand and saying it was a pleasure to meet him. Stiles wondered when exactly it was that everyone got over their aversion to touching him, wondering why it was suddenly okay to make physical contact with the unclaimed omega. He wondered if it had anything to do with the light layer of Derek's scent he was most likely still sporting, if everyone figured that now the boss man had touched Stiles, it was okay for them to engage in a little friendly physicality. Or maybe the fact that Derek had donated his blood to him and even his dad had mentioned that Stiles now smelled different, so maybe all the S-Dubs were drawn to him more than before because of Derek's scent being enmeshed with his own—although Stiles had to figure that would've worn off by then, the alpha's blood having fully mixed in with his. No matter the case, Stiles shoved it aside, treating it as the non-issue that it was.

“Nice meeting you, too, man,” Stiles told him as they released their hands, pointing a finger at Parrish in warning as he gave the beta a stern look. “Make sure you don't do anything to make yourself unworthy of Lydia, alright?”

A grin formed on Parrish's face at that and he quickly glanced at the redhead over his shoulder, waving at her sweetly before turning back to Stiles. “I'm already unworthy, but I'm gonna spend the rest of my life trying to make myself good enough for her.”

An impressed pout formed on the omega's face at that and he nodded, thinking that was good enough for him. From what he'd seen, Parrish was a good guy and if he already believed he was unworthy of Lydia, then he was definitely approved by Stiles.

“Sounds good,” he stated, serious look on his face as he peered up at the beta. “Tell Derek 'bye' for me?”

Parrish's smile faltered a bit before he plastered it back on, the genuineness of before long gone. He clearly knew something was up, that something was wrong, but he was trying his best not to show it and Stiles respected the guy even more for that. “Sure thing.”

With another nod, the twosome said goodbye and Parrish stepped to the side to join the others in their group.

His dad helped him up out the wheelchair and over to Lydia's car, the back passenger side door already open. Hanging on to the door itself, Stiles balanced on one leg, glancing at the line of people who'd come to wave him off, people he barely knew but had meant so much to his brother. Not only were they saying goodbye to him, but to Stuart as well, to their last connection to their fallen friend. He gave them all a weak smile and a small wave, the gesture returned by every one of them, before he lowered himself onto the seat.

He scooted back until he was against the opposite door, his pillow there to ease the ache of the armrest digging into his spine, leg stretched out comfortably across the seat. His dad shut the door before getting in the passenger seat, Lydia behind the wheel and starting up the engine. Without further ado, she pulled the car out of the lane and towards the exit, Stiles staring out the back window at all the waving people, mind focused on the one person who wasn't there with them.

He headed back to Beacon Hills with his dad and his best friend, his wolf whimpering in his head and an empty feeling growing in his chest.


	23. The Sickness.

Stiles had been back in Beacon Hills for about a month and... well...

Part of him wanted to pretend that his life was completely back to normal, that everything was status quo. Because it was. He was back at his dad's house, sleeping in his own bed—meaning he laid in it at night staring at the ceiling and hoping he passed out from exhaustion soon. He hung out with Scott—meaning Scott randomly showed up at his house giving him puppy dog eyes and smelling _worried_ , until Stiles managed to ramble him out of it and placate him with mindlessly violent video games. He spent time with Lydia—meaning she dragged him out of the house and constantly commented on Stiles getting paler by the day, endless inquiries about his physical appearance and mental health, all of which he brushed aside as he insisted he was fine.

Because he was. He was totally fine.

Okay, so he felt like a hollow shell of a man and some days he could barely stand to leave his bed just to shower. He chalked it up to having lost his twin, but somehow that didn't quite feel like the whole story. Mostly he just ignored the other reason for his melancholy and got really good at pretending he was okay.

At least he was able to fool himself.

And Scott, but the guy wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer and he was as naïve as a kid sometimes, blatantly refusing to think anyone was actually lying or hiding something. He was too trusting, it was almost sad.

When he wasn't holed up in his bed and pretending there was nothing wrong with that, Stiles was bugging his dad for details over the investigation into his mom's death. There hadn't been a whole lot to go on, most of the evidence having disappeared due to so much time passing, but a search of Peter's main residence in Oak Creek turned up a whole slew of information on Claudia Stilinski—born of the Blaszkiewicz Pack—her illness, and her car. It wasn't much, but it was enough to add her death to the list of multiple charges against him.

Peter's arrest made national headlines, every major news network, website, and publication reporting on the alpha who'd conspired to kill his twin sister, the State Alpha of California, and how he'd murdered her son-in-law. The media had even tried to get an interview with both Stiles and his father since they were the family of the victim, but after days of ignoring them, the sheriff finally released a generic “ _we have no comment nor will we ever. Please give us some privacy during this hard time._ ”

The reporters backed off at that, hounding the Hales instead. Or at least trying to through the countless security checks and multiple walls, no one even getting past the first gate. State Alpha Hale released a video statement saying she was appalled by her brother's actions and that she had no idea he'd been behind the malicious attacks of thirteen years ago, adding her condolences to the Stilinski family and asking for privacy for both them and the Hales.

She also sent the Stilinskis an enormous bouquet and a heartfelt letter detailing how sorry she was for their loss and what a great person Stuart was. It went in the fireproof safe with other important documents and the Stilinski men spent a silent afternoon and evening on the couch, both pretending they weren't on the verge of tears at it.

Stiles had given a sworn affidavit of the events via Skype with the Oak County ADA, witnessed by both his dad and Parrish, taking place in the sheriff's office. He hid his disappointment at which S-Dub had been present, reminding himself it would've actually been worse had Derek been there. There was no way he could handle looking at the guy, even through the crap picture of his dad's work laptop, and not breakdown or completely give away the fact that the two of them were more than just former brothers-in-law.

There was no word of Stu not being Derek's True Mate and Stiles figured the alpha was keeping up with the lie so he did the same. Lydia was the only one who knew the truth and after begging and pleading and explaining the whole thing to her, she reluctantly agreed to keep it a secret, yet still made it known what a horrible idea she believed it was. A huge part of Stiles agreed, but he kept that fact to himself, focusing instead on the charade that he was fine and the only thing bothering him was his twin's death.

Which was how he found himself at Lydia's place on a Friday night, drinking illegally procured wolfsbane infused liquor and beer that he honestly didn't question how she obtained. Honestly, he was just glad it wasn't a full blown party like last time, when countless people he didn't know kept coming up to him saying they were sorry for his loss and he wound up on the back patio throwing up into a potted ficus and having a panic attack.

He wasn't entirely sure if the smaller get-together was more for his sake or for her plants.

He liked to think it was for him.

Although if it were _really_ for him, there wouldn't be a pity party at all, something he told her he was pretty peeved about. Lydia had simply rolled her eyes and told him to get over it, that she was doing it for his own good, glaring daggers at him that had shut his mouth pretty damn quickly.

A lot of the fight had drained out of him lately and he wasn't even gonna pretend it wasn't due to the depression he was pretty sure he was suffering from.

Which was to be expected really, considering his twin had died and he'd walked away from his Mate all within the same week. That shit would take its toll on anyone.

So if he wound up spending more time sitting on the couch in Lydia's basement than dancing like Scott and Allison and Danny and Ethan, then no one could really blame him. That shit was to be expected, too.

Music was playing from the sound system, some female artist Stiles didn't recognize singing about being a hurricane, the two couples dancing closely with one another. He may or may not have been pouting as he nursed a beer, there was no proof either way.

Except for maybe Lydia's judgy look as she sat down next to him and sighed.

Whatever. She could disapprove all she wanted. He didn't ask her to throw him a pity party, just because her mom was the next county over discussing more protection for the Nemeton with Alpha Satomi, State Alpha Hale, and Noshiko Yukimura, an expert on Nemeton lore and the mother of Kira, the Mate of Derek's cousin-slash-pseudo-sister.

He took another long pull of his beer at that. The world was too goddamn small at times. Or at least Northern California was.

Lydia let out another sigh and he turned to find her staring wistfully at the two couples dancing and laughing, bright smiles on their faces. Her arm was on the back of the couch, fingers playing with her loose curls, leg tucked under her with her flower print dress flowing over her lap delicately. A small smile was on her face, green eyes full of longing, and Stiles suddenly felt bad that she was sitting on the couch with his gloomy ass rather than having fun with the others.

"You should go dance," he told her, gesturing to the open space with his half-empty bottle. "You shouldn't be stuck on the couch with the mopey omega. You should be having fun."

She dismissed the thought with a wave of the hand. "I'm fine not dancing," she told him, completely honest in her words. "Besides, it's not really the same without Jordan." Her eyes went wide and her scent turned worried, peeking at Stiles out the corner of her eye as she tensed up.

His guilt doubled at her behavior, knowing she was afraid she'd said or done something wrong by bringing up her Mate, a guy who just happened to work for and be friends with his own Mate. He hated that he made her feel like she had to walk around on eggshells with him, like she couldn't talk about her Mate without upsetting the delicate omega. It wasn't fair to her, not after everything she'd done for him when it came to Stu, not when she'd come _thisclose_ to jail time and only got away with it thanks to her mom's position and the circumstances behind the falsified paperwork.

Feeling like an ass, he wrung the back of his neck, wincing at his own fucked up behavior. He scooted closer to her, leaning down and speaking lowly, words meant just for her. "Look, if you wanna talk about Jordan, go for it," he told her honestly, small smile on his face. "You have every right to brag about your Mate and you shouldn't have to hold back because it didn't wok out between me and mine."

"I didn't know you found your Mate, Stiles," Allison stated and he turned to watch her plop down on the floor in front of them, folding her legs and tucking the skirt of her dark gray dress between them so nothing was on display. Stiles felt a moment of irritation at her interrupting, at the fact that she'd found out something he didn't want anyone to know, but at the sight of her warm brown eyes and sweet dimples, he melted. It was hard to stay mad at a Disney princess like Allison. "What happened?"

Lydia pursed her lips as she peered up at him, shrugging a shoulder to wordlessly say it was up to him. Allison glanced back and forth between then with shrewd eyes, not missing the exchange, her own lips twisting to the side thoughtfully. He looked around to the room to find Danny and Ethan practically inhaling each other and dry humping in a corner and Scott MIA, most likely in the bathroom. No other ears listening in really.

With a sigh, Stiles turned to the female on the floor, smearing a hand down his face before shrugging and shaking his head. "Not much to tell," he muttered as he began picking at the edge of the label on his beer bottle. "We both have two different lives going on and it just wasn't gonna work out."

Allison nodded grimly, thoughtful frown on her face and her lips pressed into a hard line. "I get it. Same kinda thing happened to my dad," she stated, tucking some of her dark shoulder length hair behind her ear. "He began Dreaming after he'd Mated my mom and I was about eight I think."

His eyebrows raised, Lydia's scent shifting to a similar state of surprise. "That had to be awkward," he commented, getting an "mmm" for back-up from his right.

Allison shrugged a delicate shoulder, fiddling with the hem of her dress. "It could've been, especially after he met her when my mom was still alive. But his Mate said she understood and backed off, said she wasn't gonna break up our family." A small smile formed on her face, dimples forming in each cheek. "I've never met her, but I still respect the crap outta her. I dunno if I could've done the same thing if Scott was already with someone else." At the mention of her Mate, her hand subconsciously went to the left side of her neck, fingers tracing the Claiming Bite near her ear that had clearly been refreshed earlier that day.

Stiles let out a "hmm" of his own, not entirely sure what he would've done had Stu still been alive and Mated to Derek. Then again, didn't he already know the answer? He'd already given Derek up for Stu's sake and the guy wasn't even alive anymore. Had his twin been alive and had the situation been explained to him, he would've backed off and let them be together in their small semblance of happiness.

Maybe he would've had a few too many glasses of wine with Laura as they exchanged sobs stories over giving up already taken Mates.

And now that he was thinking of her, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe she was the unknown female Allison had just been discussing. Her story sounded a whole lot like the one Laura had told him the night of Stu's funeral, with the married, fathered Mate and her backing off rather than being a homewrecker. Would've been one helluva coincidence, especially when he further thought about how Kate was Allison's aunt on her dad's side.

Fucking hell, seriously, this fucking small world of their's. Very fucking annoying at times. Like that one.

Brushing her hair back from her face, Allison turned to Lydia with a grin, smelling sweet and curious. "So Lydia, what's going on with Jordan? That transfer go through?"

Lydia practically beamed at the mention of her Mate's name, wide smile on her face, her own deep dimples on full display. She was glowing from the inside out and Stiles felt like a gigantic ass for having denied her that. "Yeah, he starts at the sheriffs department next week," she bragged, playing with a section of strawberry blonde hair. "He's looking for a place to live right now, but he may wind up having to stay at the motel downtown for a while."

"Why can't he just stay here with you?" Stiles asked with a puzzled frown. 

She scoffed and rolled her green eyes. "Because my mom gets a little too handsy when she's had one too many glasses of wine—which is far too often for my taste." She paused to take a sip of her own glass of red. "And it's not that I don't trust him or think he'd go along with her or whatever, I just—"

"Don't want him to be scared off by your mom's actions," Allison finished for her, Lydia nodding. "Yeah. I get that."

Stiles seesawed his head at that, having firsthand experience with a tipsy Alpha Martin and having heard horror stories of Scott with Allison's parents. Poor guy couldn't look at an electric pencil sharpener without shuddering—something Stiles still didn't entirely understand and Scott's explanations of "you had to be there, man" were of zero help.

He had to wonder how his dad would react to bringing someone home. Chances were an extensive tour of his gun cabinet would be involved, his sheriff badge would be on his hip, despite being out of uniform, and it wouldn't be all that big of a surprise if his dad ran a full background check beforehand and dropped tidbits and interrogatory questions during dinner.

" _So I hear you were busted shoplifting at age thirteen. Pass the salt._ "

There was no such thing as an expunged record when his dad was involved.

Too bad Stiles was never gonna get any firsthand experience of his dad's treatment of whatever romantic partner he brought home. At least not with Derek being involved. And the way he was feeling lately, it seemed pretty much like Derek or nothing.

Fucking eh. How the hell did Laura manage this shit? He may actually take her up on her offer of help with anything at anytime and get some advice on how to live a semi-normal fucking life without one's Mate.

Then again maybe not. He knew Laura had an inkling about Stu not being Derek's True Mate and maybe she thought Stiles was, but as far as he was aware, she hadn't been told the truth and didn't know the whole story. He wasn't about to change that and get in the shit book with Derek.

If he was in any book with that guy at all really.

Not to mention how incredibly awkward it would be talking to his pseudo-ex's sister. There was a reason why he'd thrown her number out and made sure it hadn't been put in his phone during a sneaky moment.

Scott returned at that moment and Allison hopped up from her spot on the floor, bounding over to him with a gleeful grin on her face that reminded Stiles of Kira. The couple soon became lost in their own world as they so often did and Stiles drained the rest of his beer, immediately getting up to grab another out the mini-fridge. Flopping back onto his previous spot, he twisted open the cap and took a large gulp, feeling a pair of judgy green eyes on him, inhaling a whole lotta worried alpha. Lowering his drink, he peered at Lydia with a cocked eyebrow, silently asking her what she was thinking.

"You sure you're okay?" she asked lowly, her raspy voice barely audible over the rasp of the female singing about begging for thread—whatever the fuck that meant.

"I'm fine," he replied, exacerbated. He'd told the lie so many times he was starting to believe it was maybe true.

Fake it 'til you make it.

She let out a sigh, fingers carding through her hair, head shaking in disapproval. "I don't believe you," she informed him and he opened his mouth to tell her that was her own problem, but she beat him to it. "But I know there's no way to actually get you to actually admit it, so just know that whenever you're finally willing to confess the truth and talk about it, I'm here to listen." She gave him a soft smile that reminded him of why she was his best friend and why he fucking adored her so damn much.

He gave her a small smile and reached over to clasp her hand with his. "Thanks, Lyds," he said softly, relishing the sweet smile he got in return. Was almost hard to believe there'd been a time when he would've given his right nut to have her smile at him like that, but now he was hung up on somebody else, his feelings for them making his all-consuming crush on her look like puppy love.

It hit him then that he was due for a Dream any day now and he closed his eyes tight, as though he could ward it off. The last thing he needed was a reminder of how well he and Derek fit together, how perfectly their bodies moved in rhythm with one another. He was suffering enough without that shit.

Taking another long pull of his beer, he let the buzz of the alcohol wash over him, hoping like hell his Dream came that night while he was blacked out.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He woke up feeling worse than ever, something he just chalked up to being hungover.

Although he'd had times where he'd had _way_ more to drink and felt _nowhere_ near as bad. Maybe he was becoming a lightweight in his ripe ol' age of twenty.

“You look like you're literally dying.”

Trust Lydia to sweet talk him in his current incapacitated state first thing in the morning.

He grunted at her as he sank down onto a metal stool in the Martin kitchen, the room all stainless steel and stark white cabinets, high-end this and state-of-the-art that. Hurt his eyes to look at on the best of days.

“Seriously,” she began, standing on the opposite side of the breakfast counter from him, features pulled in a mix of a grimace and a wince, scent worried and disgusted all at once. “You look worse than I've ever seen you.”

He knew damn well how bad he looked, paler than usual, dark circles so bad he looked like he had black eyes, skin sunken in and sallow, hair sticking up all over the place more than it normally did. Really the only good thing he had going for him physically was that he was clean-shaven and that was only because Lydia had forced him to the night before, stating he looked like a "homeless meth addict with that patchy monstrosity on your face, so do the world a favor and put your Gillette to good use."

“Thanks, Lyds,” he grumbled, smearing a hand over his face, mentally taking stock of how he felt. No headache to speak of. His nausea had dissipated after a quick stop in the bathroom to get up close and personal with the toilet. No appetite, but that was pretty much par for the course for him recently. Still felt exhausted, despite actually having gotten some sleep.

Or at least he _assumed_ he'd gotten some sleep. There was a huge blank space in his night and he'd woken up on the couch with his face smashed against a pillow and a blanket carefully draped over him, meaning he'd passed out at some point.

No Dream though. Thank fuck.

Although knowing his luck, his subconscious was saving it for that night.

Goddammit.

“Wanna talk about it?” Lydia offered before turning away to the opposite counter, setting to work making coffee in the fancy ass Nescafe machine she had.

He ground the heel of his hand between his pecs at the sight of the coffee maker, remembering another alpha that had scoffed at the mention of said machine, singing the praises of his own Keurig, and how he'd managed to brew Stiles the perfect cup of joe with it. Repeatedly.

“There's nothing to talk about,” he mumbled, sniffing before dropping his hand onto the counter, folding his arms in front of him.

She gave him a completely unamused look over her shoulder, shaking her head and making her strawberry blonde hair swish about. “Denial isn't healthy and is no way to get through life,” she stated as she turned back, adjusting the falling side of the oversized gray hoodie she was wearing. The one that had originally been Parrish's.

Stiles felt a twinge of regret that he hadn't managed to swipe anything of Derek's, only to wonder if it would've been a good idea in the first place. He was barely getting by as it was; having the man's scent around... Maybe it would've helped him cope better, maybe it could've helped him wean himself off the alpha.

But maybe it would've just been a reminder of what he lost. Maybe it would've been another stab in the heart, another crack in his ribcage, another hole in his chest beside the still-healing one of his brother's loss and the loosely stitched up one from his mom that was coming undone with the recent news regarding the circumstances of her death.

“It's helping me get through it right now,” he argued, shoving his hand through his hair repeatedly, the too-long strands standing on end. He was in serious need of a cut, dangerously close to resembling Coach Finstock and his fork-in-an-outlet hairdo.

Not a good look on anyone.

But getting it cut required effort and leaving his bed, neither of which he was inclined to do.

Unless forcefully removed against his will by stubborn five-foot-three alphas on a tear, like the previous night.

Lydia let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing at her forehead, the scent of aggravation and worry heavy in the air, overpowering the coffee. “Stiles, I just.” She cut herself off, turning around with her arms folded over her torso, fixing him with hard green eyes. Her lips were pursed as her jaw worked, a look of agitation she often wore when they'd first become friends and he wasn't letting her have her way during chemistry assignments, refusing to roll over for the alpha queen who was used to being in charge and having everyone kiss her feet and/or ass. “You're worrying everyone with your behavior. _Everyone_. And the fact that you look like a greasy vampire in some terrible art-school film isn't helping. I wasn't joking last night when I told you that you looked like a homeless meth addict.”

He glanced to the side, unable to look at her, unable to face the truth of what she was saying. French doors were located to the right, her Pomeranian Prada prancing around the backyard, chasing after a butterfly. It was another beautiful summer day, the kind of bright and sunny California was known for, the stereotypes of the state's weather, the clear blue sky and the hot hot heat.

Stiles still hated nice weather, still wanted thunderstorms and torrential downpours, still wanted his mood reflected by the atmospheric conditions. He didn't feel like sunshine, didn't feel like clear skies, didn't feel like bright warm days. He felt cold, abnormally so, felt gray and empty and so very void of everything, and he wanted to see it whenever he looked out the windows.

He didn't get it.

The universe was still fucking with him. The dick.

“Stiles?”

He peered over at his best friend at the soft way she'd spoken his name, saw the way her arms were wrapped around herself rather than folded to show anger or annoyance, saw the concern in her furrowed brow and pressed lips, the shine in her eyes and the way her delicate nostrils constricted as she sniffed.

“You didn't shift with us two weeks ago,” she pointed out lowly, glancing at her feet before meeting his eyes. “Scott said he asked your dad about it and he said you didn't shift at all. That's not normal, not okay. There's something very wrong with you and acting like everything is alright is _not_ helping.”

He swallowed hard, breathing in lungfuls of her worry and anxiety and hating himself for it. Because once again he was dimming the light that was Lydia Martin, was affecting her life in a negative way when all she'd been was supportive and sweet and caring and helpful. He was a dick and she deserved better.

He wondered briefly if that's how Derek saw himself all those times he told Stiles he deserved better.

He shoved the thought aside when it hurt too much, just like all thoughts of Derek hurt.

“I know I'm not okay, Lyds,” he admitted, voice rough, clearing his throat. “My twin was murdered and I more or less broke up with my Mate. I'm gonna be out of it for a while.”

“This is more than _being out of it_ ,” she pointed out, harsh edge to her words. “This is there being something seriously fucking wrong that you should definitely seek professional help for.”

He rolled his eyes at that, rising to his feet, knowing the conversation was just gonna wind up going in circles. “I don't need help, okay? I'm fine, I'm handling it, I'm dealing.”

“Ignoring the problem until it goes away isn't dealing, Stiles,” she snipped and he internally winced, hating how well she knew him.

He sighed, shoving a hand through his hair, flannel shirt flapping with the movement. “There isn't a problem to ignore,” he lied, walking around the island to stand before her. “Because I'm fine.”

She huffed, glaring up at him with hard green eyes, realizing she wasn't getting anywhere and was wasting her time. “Whatever,” she dismissed. “Call me when it's time to prove me right. I've got my 'told you so' perfectly lined up.”

The corner of his lips quirked up at that, the closest he came to a smile in recent times, and he nodded. “Okay, Lyds.” Bending down, he kissed her cheek and said his goodbyes, shuffling out the house with aching joints and tired muscles. He wasn't fine, wasn't handling it, wasn't dealing, and they both knew it, just like they both knew he'd never fucking admit any of it out loud.

Climbing behind the wheel of his Jeep, he was hit with a flash of a different pair of green eyes and the sorrow they'd held as the owner had said goodbye and told Stiles to take care. He swallowed hard at it, at the knowledge that he wasn't really and that part of him kind of didn't want to.

Shoving it all aside, he cranked the engine, Roscoe starting up with a loud rumble, determined to forget about every-fucking-thing, especially a male green-eyed alpha who he honestly hoped was doing a million times better than Stiles was. Then again, he'd seen terminal patients at Beacon Memorial who were doing better than he currently was, so that wasn't really saying much or setting the bar all that high.

He shoved that thought aside, too, heading straight home, wanting nothing more than his bed and a Rip Van Winkle style nap, knowing he was most likely only gonna get the first.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Glad to see you're alive,” his dad greeted him, standing in the front hallway in his full uniform, tight lines around his eyes and lips. “But I can't say I'm thrilled over you reeking of alcohol when you're still underage.”

Stiles winced at that, rubbing the back of his neck as he closed the door behind himself. Sheriff for a dad, should've known that he'd be busted.

Okay, he'd totally known, but whatever. At the time he hadn't been thinking about anything but that one song he heard on his internet radio app the other day about “can't stop drinking about you”. Taking a shot to forget about forever seemed like a damn good idea really. And it had been.

Until Lydia's declaration that he looked like he was _dying_ and now his dad giving him a judgy “what am I gonna do with this wayward child of mine?” look.

At least he wasn't hungover.

Or at least he didn't _think_ he was. It was hard to tell. He still felt like absolute shit and wanted nothing more than to just crawl in bed, burrito up in his comforter, and throw a metaphorical finger to the world, but it wasn't accompanied by the usual “dear lord, I am _never_ drinking that much again” groans and empty promises.

Dead twin. No Mate. Finding out his mom had been _murdered_ and hadn't been in an accident. Okay, yeah, he'd earned the right to feel like shit.

“In my defense,” Stiles began, clearing his throat as he dropped his hand. “I didn't drive home last night. And I drank in the safety of someone's residence and didn't go out anywhere.”

“By 'someone's residence', you mean Lydia's house,” his dad deadpanned, arms folded and eyebrow cocked in a way that dared his kid to defy him.

It was almost like he didn't know Stiles at all.

“I plead the fifth.”

“That only protects you against _self_ -incrimination. It doesn't protect others.”

He gestured wildly, eyes wide, like it actually fucking mattered. He wasn't giving Lydia up for anything, not after all she'd done for him. Really, he should be her indentured servant at that point, carrying her purse and taking her stupid tiny dog for walks and sitting on all fours as she used him for an ottoman.

All right, that last part was borderline fem-domme stuff, but he wouldn't put it past Lydia to be into that shit.

He wasn't gonna be able to look at Parrish straight on anymore, not with that image in his head. Fuck.

His dad let out a sigh, shaking his head and rubbing at his eyes. “Look, just. Get something to eat and get in bed, sleep it off, okay?” He refolded his arms, giving his son a stern look, lips pulled in a wince. “You look like hell.”

Stiles snorted. “So I've been told.”

The two exchanged goodbyes, hugging before his dad left the house and headed off to work. The omega locked all the deadbolts then stared at the kitchen, deciding against food. Instead, he hauled himself up the stairs and to his room where he exchanged his jeans for a pair of flannel pajama pants and tossed his plaid overshirt somewhere before crawling into bed. He got comfy in the middle, just how he liked it, comforter wrapped around him as he closed his eyes and tried to drift off to sleep.

Which was precisely what didn't happen.

He felt completely restless, tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable. He couldn't relax on his right side, his left side, his back, his stomach, curled up, stretched out, one leg tucked in and the other laying flat. He felt shaky and jittery all over, his wolf pacing about and whining, completely ill at ease. His skin felt off, too tight and too loose at the same time, his internal organs all in the wrong places, his chest empty and hollow.

A howl cried out in the distance and he was out of bed with his pajama pants halfway off, compelled to follow it, when he realized it wasn't even real. He'd imagined the damn thing.

Worst of all, that wasn't the first time that'd happened to him.

He practically fell onto the bed with weak knees, raising his trembling hand to shove it through his hair. He felt physically ill, nauseous, a thin coat of sweat covering him and making him feel disgusting all over. But the worst part was how he just didn't seem to _care_. What was the point in bathing or hygiene? What was the point in being well and healthy? What was the point in anything anymore?

Stiles felt completely jittery all over, barely able to grip his cell, to pull up his contacts, to tap Lydia's name.

It rang four times before there was an answer and he let out a shaky sigh of relief at her croaky " _hello?_ "

"Lyds?" he questioned unnecessarily, voice wavering and weaker than he remembered it ever being. "I think there might be something really wrong with me."

He awaited her "duh", her "I told you so", her "of course there is, since when am I ever wrong about anything?". But instead what came was a fiercely determined yet soft and gentle: " _I'll be right over to drive you to the hospital._ "

~*~*~*~*~*~

He managed to dress himself in a pair of gray sweats and pull a red hoodie over his black tee, slipping his feet inside a pair of random sneakers he grabbed out his closet. Lydia arrived soon after, dressed down in a pair of denim shorts and a Marines tee he was pretty sure wasn't hers, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and face surprisingly makeup free for once.

She had to support him on the way in to Beacon Memorial, arm wrapped around his waist, his legs barely working to carry him inside. At the front desk, they found out that his regular doctor wasn't in, but Scott's mom was there and available, taking them to a private room to chat. Lydia hovered near the closed door, stinking the room up with her overwhelming concern and worry, as Stiles sat on the bed with his back to her. Melissa stood close by, metal clipboard in one hand, pen in the other, his file open for her to take notes on.

“So, Stiles, what exactly seems to be the problem?” she questioned, an odd mix of clinical detachment and caring mom. Her own concerned scent was mixing with Lydia's, to the point where it was almost overwhelming, and he had a hard time concentrating on the question he'd been asked.

“I feel,” he began, shaking his head when he couldn't quite figure out the right word. “Off.”

“Off?” she double-checked, cocking an eyebrow. “Can you be a bit more specific?”

He scratched at his forehead then smeared his hand down his face, gesturing helplessly. “Like. Wrong. I dunno.”

“Ohhkay,” she stretched out the word as she bobbed her eyebrows, scribbling a note. “How much sleep have you been getting lately?”

“Including the eight hour black out from when I got drunk last night?” he asked with a forced chuckle, not liking the worried glance it got him or the disapproving sigh from Lydia coming from behind.

“You black out from drinking often?” Melissa asked out of both concern and disappointment, eyes fixed on him in a look that was strangely judgy and worried at the same time.

He shook his head, feeling incredibly chastised, having flashbacks to Mama McCall yelling at him, Scott, and Stu about no skateboarding in the house, no wrestling on the couches, no lacrosse inside either! “No, not in about a year,” he admitted honestly, wringing the back of his neck as his feet began swinging back and forth. “But I've maybe gotten about five hours sleep.”

“A night?”

“This week.”

Lydia muttered out a few choice words from the background as Melissa's eyebrows raised and she wrote it down before going through a whole list of other things she needed to double-check.

“Energy level?”

“Zero, but that's probably due to lack of sleep.”

“Diet?”

“I haven't been eating much in all honesty. No appetite.”

“Mood?”

“Swinging back and forth, but mostly leaning towards the morose side of things.”

“Focus?”

“Worse than usual, but that could be a no sleep thing again.”

“Depressed or suicidal thoughts?”

“A few times, yeah.”

“Anything else?”

He let out a long sigh as he thought it over, staring at his hands as his fingers tangled together on his lap. “I feel jittery, I can't stay warm even when I completely bundle up, my wolf is restless and constantly whining, I feel a dull ache all over, and earlier I heard a wolf howling that wasn't really there, but I was totally convinced that it was, and that's happened about six times now,” he rushed out, taking a deep breath when it was over. “That, plus just a general sense of 'wrong' all over with everything.”

Melissa wrote it all down, her concerned scent growing even more intense with each admission, and she stared at her clipboard for a long time when she was finished. Licking her lips, she glanced over at Lydia before finally looking at Stiles, worry etched in her brow and around her tight lips. “Think you can describe it to me?”

He scratched his forehead with one finger, thinking about it, trying to get his thoughts together, But the more he tried, the dizzier he felt, the room spinning faster and faster and faster. His vision began to blacken at the edges, everything going blurry and swirling, all of it feeling completely off-kilter. His wolf began yowling inside his head, louder than he'd ever heard it before, so loud that he couldn't think, much less figure out what the hell was going on.

The only saving grace in the whole thing was that he passed out to the side and didn't fall off the bed.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Things were hazy for a long time.

It was like swimming almost, drowning in a sea of nothing, blackness overtaking and overwhelming. He had no idea where he was, what was happening, if he was even still alive.

He figured he had to be, because every now and then he would surface, would hear things. He heard the beep of his heart rate monitor and the drip of his IV. He heard the sound of the door opening and shutting, the scribbling of a pen as someone updated his chart. He heard the voices of a man and a woman in conversation, their tones hushed but worried, a tinge of fear to them as they spoke.

“I took some notes on his symptoms and I think you might wanna check them out,” said the female. Melissa. He liked Melissa. Melissa was a surrogate mom, had been there after his real mom had died, was a caregiver and a support system and just a wonderful person in general.

“Yeah, I have, too.” His dad. And he sounded really worried, really upset. Oh shit, he was upset about Stiles. Oh fuck, he wasn't supposed to be upset, wasn't supposed to be worried, not about him. Stiles wasn't gonna leave, was gonna be the one person who stuck around, who was okay, who was...

“It's just like Claudia.”

Claudia. His mom. His lovely, lovely mom. Who had gotten sick with frontotemporal dementia and had slowly gone insane, delusions haunting her and driving her so far to the edge, that she drove herself into a wall.

Delusions like the wolf he'd heard howling earlier.

He tried harder to surface, to hear more, to make sure that wasn't what was happening. Surely there was a mistake, surely that couldn't be the case. But he thought of his symptoms and the obsessive research he'd done over the years of his mom's disease, research that included the fact that it could hit teenagers and young adults.

Like him.

He was fighting a losing battle and soon the blackness took over and he was lost once again to a state of nothingness.


	24. The Awakening.

Stiles came to with a sense of déjà vu. Heart rate monitor beeping. IV dripping. Pen scribbling. Metal on metal as a clipboard was hung at the end of his bed. Soft sneakers padding along the linoleum floor. The scents of hospital and disinfectant and concern.

He slowly opened his eyes, vision blurry as he blinked away the bleariness of sleep and woke himself up more. He took in the familiar sights of a room in Beacon Memorial, the harsh fluorescent light and strangely warm beige walls. Peering to his right, he caught sight of Melissa checking his IV, worry furrowing her brow.

"Mi'ssa?" he slurred, tongue thick from sleep, voice rough from a dry throat. Downside of being a mouth breather when sleeping. Well, that, plus sounding like Darth Vader.

At least Stu had said he sounded like Vader. Stiles wouldn't really know, being asleep and all.

The nurse's eyes flipped over to him, a smile slowly forming on her face, relief flooding her scent. "Hey, sleepyhead," she greeted him warmly, voice calm and low, washing over him like an extra blanket. "How you feeling?"

He stretched as he took stock of everything, feeling incredibly well-rested, body no longer feeling completely off or wrong or out of place. "Still kinda floaty," he admitted, rubbing at his eyes and sniffing then dropping his hands onto his stomach. "But more in my own skin. That weird empty feeling is pretty much gone and my wolf feels calm."

And it was. Hell, if Stiles didn't know any better, he'd say the furry lug was purring inside his head, tail wagging lazily as he laid there in contentment, something that hadn't happened since...

It was then that he registered a third heartbeat in the room, another monitor beeping steadily, so perfectly in rhythm with his own that at times they were overlapping, making it easy to miss. His brow furrowed in confusion, lips parting, and he turned his head to the left to find the source of it.

His eyes went wide at the sight of Derek laying in a bed beside him, completely out. His heart pounded in his chest, a gasp leaving him, before he registered the fact that the alpha was tied to the bed using the five point restraint method, straps around his wrists, ankles, and chest holding him to the bed. A gag was in his mouth, teeth marks in the leather, pricks that could've only been made from fangs rather than blunt teeth.

What the hell happened?

His heart rate monitor beeped louder and faster as his wolf howled in his head, clearly sensing something was wrong. Derek's pulse increased to match his, brow creasing into a frown, arms and legs shuffling about as he subconsciously began fighting his restraints.

"Stiles," Melissa called him calmly, voice still low, hand on his shoulder to press him back down onto the bed, despite him having no idea he'd even risen in the first place. "I need you to relax, okay?"

Stiles' head snapped to her, puzzled frown on his face, chest heaving with worried breaths. "What's going on? Why is he tied down like that? What happened to him?"

"Because Derek's at a high-risk for going feral," she explained in that same even voice, hand a steadying presence on his shoulder, head nodding in a psychological tactic to get him to agree. "And if he senses you panicking for any reason, he will fight off those drugs, get out of those restraints, and tear this hospital apart to try and fix a problem that doesn't really exist. A hospital that currently includes your dad, Scott, Lydia, Allison, and myself. Understand?"

Stiles nodded, utilizing every breathing technique he learned to calm himself down. Turning to Derek, he took deep inhales of the alpha's scent, remembering how it'd helped him recover from a panic attack at the ME's office in Oak Creek, hoping it would work again.

Luckily it did and Stiles felt his heart beat slow and his breaths even out, Derek relaxing right along with him. When he felt more in control of himself, the omega turned back to Melissa, still confused as to what was going on.

"Why is Derek even here?" he questioned. "What happened?"

Melissa sighed as she folded her arms and it was then that he noticed she was in a different set of scrubs, these a pale pink compared to the baby blue he'd last seen her in. "The two of you were suffering from Incomplete Bond Sickness. It's why you were feeling so out of it and why Derek damn near went feral and attacked a coworker. He had to be tranqed, tied down, then airlifted here before he did any more damage." Her eyes drifted over to the mentioned male, a look of maternal pity and worry on her face. She clearly felt bad for him rather than disapproved of him assaulting someone.

Which was definitely a story Stiles needed more details of.

Later. He had more important shit to worry about. Like what the hell Melissa had just diagnosed him with.

"Wait," he requested, drawing her attention back to him. "How can we even have any sort of Bond when we never—" He trailed off, waving his hand around to encompass what he was trying to say without actually having to say it in front of his best friend's mom.

The sex talk was always awkward, regardless of what parental type figure it was happening with.

She smirked, dark eyes sparkling with the amusement that colored her scent. "Went all the way?" she finished for him, his face heating up with embarrassment.

Better her than his dad, he figured.

Oh fuck, his dad was gonna know! His dad was gonna find out he lied and he screwed around with his twin's Mate, who was actually _Stiles'_ Mate and just kill him now. Fuck his life.

She breathed out a light chuckle, shaking her head in amusement before growing serious, in complete Mom Mode. "Sometimes an emotional Bond can happen without any physical acts taking place and that can be enough for your wolf. Especially when True Mates are involved," she added, giving him a pointed look.

Shit. Busted.

He cleared his throat as he felt his face heat up even more in mortification, his wolf hiding its face in its paws. He cleared his throat and shuffled in place, ducking his head and staring down at his hospital gown. Totally not how he wanted to look when he saw Derek again.

Not that he was planning on ever seeing Derek again at all.

But still. He could fantasize about it and in those said fantasies he was always in those burgundy jeans Lydia said made his ass look great and his fave _Star Wars_ shirt that was technically on the small side but he was too attached to get rid of it, and Derek would look him up and down, letting out a growl as he told Stiles how hot he looked and what an idiotic mistake he'd made in letting him go.

Yeah, hospital chic was not a part of that.

Although it kinda brought shit full circle, considering the last time he saw Derek he was in a similar outfit in a similar room.

He peeked over at the other man, taking in his appearance. At least he was stuck in one of the not so flattering johnnies, too. Kinda put them on equal ground there. Was too bad their conditions weren't exactly equal.

The thought of that brought a fuzzy memory back to mind, a half-heard conversation that had been muffled, as though coming to him through water or something. With a frown, he switched his focus back to Melissa, peering up at her as he spoke lowly.

"You told my dad I had the same thing as my mom," he pointed out, watching as her face fell and her scent grew sadder. Sometimes he forgot what good friends his mom and Melissa had been, how the death of Claudia had been hard on her as well. His fists tangled in the blanket, heart pounding though he tried to keep it calm for Derek's sake, panic and worry making his chest tight and his breathing shaky. "Did you mean I had frontotemporal dementia, too?"

A sigh left her and she ducked her head, muttering about how she hoped he hadn't heard that while she scratched at the back of her neck. "No," she answered honestly, and he felt relief so strong he practically sagged from it. "Your mom came down with a case of IBS when she first started dating your dad and he was shipped overseas with the army. He had to come back early in order to complete the Bond and legend has it, that's how you came to be."

Okay, more than he needed to know. Sure, every kid is aware that their parents had sex—how else would they even exist? Plus heats were a thing and he had memories of him and Stu staying at the McCalls' for a weekend twice a year, every year, until his mom's death. His dad didn't have a heat for a while after that and then it turned into a once a year trip to their family friends' place.

But despite all that, the reminder that his parents actually had sex wasn't a welcome thing.

The relief that he didn't have frontotemporal dementia, however, was and he gave Melissa a small smile and a quiet "thanks" in appreciation.

She smiled right back, rubbing his shoulder in a purely maternal manner, glancing at the door briefly. "I'm gonna go update everyone that you're awake and talking. Think you're up to any visitors?"

Truth was, Stiles wasn't entirely sure if he was in the mood for dealing with anyone, especially not the five thousand questions that'd be thrown his way. But he knew he didn't really have a choice, not with how nosy and pushy his friends were and how much his dad worried.

Shit. His dad. Oh fuck, he was gonna be pissed.

He winced slightly, scratching his head and feeling the grease of his unwashed hair—gross, way attractive, another bonus for Derek seeing him like this. "My dad, yeah," he answered, knowing it was best just to get that over with.

Melissa seemed to understand, patting his shoulder one last time and saying she'll send everyone else home for the night before padding out the room and quietly closing the door behind herself.

Stiles glanced out the window, seeing it was in fact dark outside and therefore night time. He wondered how long he'd been there, how late it was, searching the room but not finding a clock.

Giving up, he turned his attention back to Derek and taking in his unconscious form. He looked like he was naturally sleeping and not in some sorta drug induced coma, chest rising and falling in slow even breaths beneath the leather restraint.

Inspecting the alpha further, Stiles took note of all the physical changes, his heart sinking with each new piece he found. His hair was unstyled, greasy, like he hadn't washed it in a while, beard longer and not nearly as tidy as it had been. His frame looked smaller, like he'd lost a bunch of weight and had stopped working out, skin paler and sunken in. Dark circles framed his eyes like bruises, clearly a result of lack of sleep, and the harsh fluorescent lights made him look like death.

Stiles' wolf howled in his head, whining and whimpering and scratching at the surface. And Stiles couldn't blame it. He was overwhelmed with the need to caretake, to nurse Derek back to health. He wanted to hand-feed him soup he'd made himself, read him bedtime stories as he scratched his scalp and lulled him to sleep, watching over him to make sure he got the proper amount of sleep, give him sponge baths and help him trim his beard until he was back on his feet and he could do it himself. He wanted to watch Derek get better, get stronger, get back to his old self and be the reason why it happened.

Only he wasn't gonna be able to.

Because Incomplete Bond Sickness or not, they'd both agreed it was for the best that they not be together, that it would never work out between them. He wondered briefly if the IBS would change that, only to quickly conclude that it wouldn't. Their physical conditions might be better now that they were in the same room, but their lives were still exactly the same, making it impossible for them to happen.

" _Mates don't always mean happy ever after._ "

He hated how that voice in his head now sounded more like himself than Stu.

He also hated the restraints tying Derek down like he was a lunatic or an animal. Surely the alpha was feeling better, feeling calmer now that he was near Stiles. The younger man definitely felt miles better being in close proximity to him. And if his omega was calm and relaxed, shouldn't Derek be also? Wouldn't that mean the restraints could come off, his chances of going feral decreased?

Stiles nodded in agreement with himself, mind made up, deciding to take the restraints off himself. It wasn't like Derek posed any sorta danger to him, just anyone who threatened Stiles, given an alpha's basic need to protect their omega.

He sat up in bed, pushing his blanket back then kicking them all the way off, fully intending to step over and free his Mate, when the door opened and stopped him in his tracks. He scrambled back into position, hastily pulling his covers back up and smoothing them over himself, making it appear as though he hadn't moved an inch.

Although the increase in frequency of the heart rate monitor's beeps and the agitation on Derek's face probably gave him away.

Shit.

He took a deep steadying breath, inhaling his dad's scent as the sheriff made his way into the room, dressed in a polo and jeans and looking like he hadn't gotten much sleep either. Jesus, Stiles just wanted to tuck pretty much everyone into bed and have a big ol' nap party. A siesta fiesta.

But the relief that came across his dad's face as his blue eyes washed over him was worth fretting over his lack of sleep, as was the soft “hey, kiddo” he breathed out as he stepped closer, pulling a chair over with him. Stiles gave his dad a smile, more than thankful that he was able to actually _do_ that, that he hadn't actually died and left his old man all alone like he'd been so fucking worried he was going to.

Nope. His dad was stuck with him for—hopefully—a long ass time.

“Glad to see you're finally awake.”

Stiles let out a snort as he scratched an itch on his cheek, hearing the rasp of stubble from the action, making his brow furrow in inquiry. “How long was I out?”

His dad's own brow creased in worry as he leaned forward on his knees, hands clasped together. “About a day and a half.”

His eyes widened at that, thinking there was no way it had only been that little amount of time. He breathed out a swear as he smeared a hand down his face, leaning down and getting settled in his bed once more. “Feels like I've slept for a month,” he muttered, stretching his arms out in front of him, elbows popping with the action.

A snort was the older man's reaction, an eyebrow raising. “Yeah, well, that's what happens when you sleep next to your Mate,” he stated, giving his son a pointed look that made his earlier flush return. With a sigh, his dad leaned back, roughing his hands over his face and shaking his head before folding his arms over his chest in a casual manner and staring his son down. “What the hell have you gotten yourself caught up in now?”

“It's not my fault!” Stiles cried out as he sat up, arms flailing in defense of himself. The heart rate monitor behind him spiked and he calmed himself down, slumping once more on the bed. “And it's not Derek's fault either. Or Stu's. Not like any of us really knew or anything.”

His dad seesawed his head, eyebrows bobbing in concession. “Guess the world is crazy like that. Your mom always did say that Fate works in mysterious ways.” A sad smile formed on his face at the mention of her, scent turning melancholic, before he focused his attention on Stiles once more. “So why the big secret about you being Derek's True Mate?”

He swallowed hard, sinking further in the bed, hating this. He knew it was bound to come up eventually, especially when he woke up from an unconscious state with Derek in the bed next to his and Melissa talking about Incomplete Bond Sickness. But now that the moment had come to fess up, he was seriously fucking dreading it.

Maybe he could fake passing out.

Nah. His dad would figure out he was faking. Besides, he'd have to have that conversation when he woke up again anyway. Might as well just get it over with.

With a sigh, he tugged at his hair, eyes fixated on his lap. “We agreed not to say anything,” he mumbled, dropping his hand with a slap. “We didn't want people thinking that Derek was just replacing his lost Mate with his identical twin and we didn't want the lie about his and Stu's Mating to come out.”

“Okay,” his dad replied with a long head nod, brow still creased in confusion. “But why not tell me about you and Derek when you gave me the whole story about Oak Creek? A story that included the fact that your brother had fake-Mated someone, by the way,” he pointed out with a hand aimed at his son.

He winced at that, fingers tangling together on his lap. “I dunno,” he huffed, shrugging. “I guess I was just in denial about the whole thing, trying not to think about it, ya know? That way it wouldn't hurt as much.”

Okay, now that he was saying it out loud, it sounded kinda dumb. But it had made sense to him. At least a little. Because saying shit out loud was always the one thing that made something _real_. And on top of that, talking about it was just another huge reminder of what he'd lost—or more accurately, what he'd given up. He hadn't fought for Derek, hadn't tried to change his mind or convince him that they could make it work, that they could lie and concoct some story about how the mutual loss of Stu had brought them together, that Stiles being Dream-less and Derek now being Mate-less allowed them to fall in love the less traditional way and form a happy bond out of a tragic event.

Jesus, seriously, _why_ hadn't he thought of that before? It was perfect.

He just needed to remember that argument for whenever Derek woke up and they could actually talk about shit.

His dad shook his head fondly, muttering that he was an idiot and ruffling his son's hair. “Well, everyone knows now,” he pointed out, leaning on his knees once more. “And probably everyone at Oak Creek after the State Alpha's son was airlifted outta there.”

Stiles breathed out a swear. So much for that plan.

Was still a good one though.

Nodding in agreement, his dad rose to his feet, patting his son's shoulder. “I'll let you get some more rest. You still look like you need it.”

He gave his old man a small smile, brow furrowing as he thought of something. “Can you tell someone to come get the restraints off Derek?”

His dad winced like he wasn't exactly on board with that idea, eyes shifting over to the still sleeping alpha then back to the younger man. “I'll talk to someone about it,” he placated, not entirely agreeing but not saying 'no'.

Stiles would take it.

The two hugged tightly and exchanged “I love you”s before his dad walked out, door closing behind him.

Shifting on the bed, Stiles shuffled about until he was laying comfortably on his side, eyes fixed on Derek. His Mate was only a foot or so away now, yet still seemed too far, and he finally gave in to the urge to touch, laying a hand on his bicep. It seemed a lot smaller than he remembered and his worry built back up, only to become too sleepy to really dwell on it that much. He fell back asleep with the sound of his Mate's heartbeat in his ear and scent somewhat in his nose.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was light outside when Stiles next woke up. The main light in the room and the lamp above his head were both turned off, the window on the far left and the lamp above Derek providing the only illumination. Casting his eyes to the side, he found the alpha already awake—and thankfully restraint free—and staring at him, green eyes half lidded, soft smile on his face. Stiles grinned sleepily back at him, taking note of the fact that his hand was no longer on Derek's bicep, but gripped within one of the alpha's, their fingers interlocked. He thought of some supposed psychological factoid about how hands cupped mean friendship and fingers laced together meant love and his stupid heart skipped a beat at what it all could mean.

He peered down at their joined hands, squeezing the other man's and feeling his squeezed right back, smile growing on his face. It was stupid really. Hand holding didn't mean anything, not in the long run. The physical closeness was just helping abate any of their Incomplete Bond Sickness symptoms, helping them get better. Didn't mean they were gonna get together and live happily ever after. Just meant the touching calmed their wolves and made them feel less...off.

Or less feral in Derek's case.

His eyes traveled back up the alpha's arm, focusing on those light eyes he'd missed more than he realized, feeling relieved to see his Mate awake and free of restraints and seemingly okay. “How are ya?” he croaked out, voice rough from sleep.

“Good,” the older man replied, smile fading into a frown, free hand smearing down his face as he stared at the ceiling. “Better. Less homicidal and less like my wolf is gonna take over and tear everyone apart until we find you.”

The mention of his wolf and tearing people apart reminded Stiles of what Melissa had told him earlier and he frowned, free hand fiddling with the edge of his blanket. “Who was it that you attacked anyway?”

Derek scoffed, dropping his hand on his stomach. “Whittemore,” he grumbled, making the corner of Stiles' lips curve up in a pleased smirk. “He said something not so nice about you, although looking back at it now, it was probably just a joke, but.” He shrugged, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I just. Lost it. I didn't even realize what I was doing until I felt this prick in my neck and I looked down to see Whittemore cowering and submitting beneath me, his face all bloodied.” He grimaced, shame painted his scent, hand tightening around Stiles' and the omega squeezed back in support. “Took seven or eight more tranq darts to take me out. All 'cause he said your face looked like a cookie with those stupid moles.” He turned his head to the younger man, eyes wide with worry. “His words, not mine.”

Stiles waved him off, not too put off by it. “Honestly, that's probably the nicest thing he's ever said about my moles. And my face kinda does look like a cookie.”

“I like cookies,” the alpha mumbled and Stiles jostled their joined hands good-naturedly.

“So. Aside from Jackson's face getting all beat to hell, which I hope there's photos of, by the way, 'cause I'd pay to see that shit,” he pointed out, watching the older man's ears go red and the shame leak back into his scent. Which totally shouldn't be happening. It wasn't Derek's fault he snapped; that's why it was called “snapping”. Shit just happens without permission or control and there's no way to stop it or prevent it or any of that shit.

So he shouldn't feel bad for attacking a subordinate. He should just feel bad that Stiles wasn't there to see it really.

“How is everyone?” he asked, changing the subject and hopefully his Mate's mood.

Derek seesawed his head, scratching his jaw and the too-long whiskers as he thought about it. “Laura's pissed at you for not calling or keeping in touch,” he informed flatly, not seeming to notice Stiles' wince.

“Yeeeah,” he stretched the word out, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It was easier that way, a clean break.”

The alpha nodded. “I know. I get it. I kinda lied to Laura a little though and told her that you probably just didn't wanna have anything to do with the town where your brother died and maybe one day you'd come around, but not to hold her breath. She seemed to buy it.”

He swallowed hard at the reminder of all that Oak Creek stood for and the things it had taken from him. Derek had made a very valid point and up until that moment, he honestly hadn't considered avoiding the town due to that reason. Really, the only thing he'd been thinking about when it came to wanting nothing to do with Oak Creek was because it was where Derek lived. That was reason enough to not wanna go to the place.

“Erica misses you and your doe eyes,” Derek went on, staring up at the ceiling again as though reading a list of things he needed to talk about. “Cora still wants to take you on in poker, which I strongly advise you not to do.” He turned and looked at the omega, small smirk on his face. “You literally can't afford to do it.”

Stiles smiled back fondly, thinking it was maybe time for a research binge on poker in order to try and beat Cora.

Clearing his throat, Derek looked away, staring down at their joined hands. “Kira wanted me to tell you 'hi' if I ever talked to you, Isaac says he owes you a drink for the computer thing. Basically, everyone misses you,” he stated before mumbling out the last part. “ _I_ miss you.”

His smile grew and he squeezed the older man's hand, feeling the action being returned. “I miss everyone, too. Especially you, Big Guy.”

The grin was returned as the alpha looked up and met his eyes, a moment of peaceful bliss washing over them.

Until Stiles' mind kicked in, as it was apt to do.

Because chances were this was all they would have, a moment of peace holding hands in a hospital room. Earlier thoughts of the complications of their lives came back, worries that this was it, this was all that they'd have.

Or maybe not. Maybe things had changed, maybe the IBS was putting shit in perspective and now that everyone knew the truth about Stiles being Derek's True Mate, maybe...

“We should probably talk about shit, huh?” he commented, clearing his throat.

Derek's thumb stroked the back of his hand, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he nodded. “But not here with so many ears. And especially not right now,” he added, brow furrowing and scent turning nervous.

Stiles frowned in confusion himself, wondering what the hell had brought on the change, only for the door to open and answer the unasked question for him.

A tall female with shoulder length black hair and piercing eyes breezed in with a wave of authority and maternal love rolling off her. She was dressed in a flowing hunter green dress, sleeves hanging loose down to her elbows, black motorcycle boots covering her shins, and as he took in a familiar blade nose and sharp jaw, he immediately knew who he was staring at.

California State Alpha Talia Hale.

Also known as Derek's mom.

And damn if he didn't look just like her.

Stiles was immediately in awe of her, mouth gaping as he took her in, watching as she pulled to a stop between the foot of their beds. And then he promptly realized he was in a somewhat compromising position, holding the hand of her son that she'd thought had been Mates with someone else, and he dropped it instantly, shooting an apologetic look at Derek out the corner of his eye. Peering down at himself, he remembered what he was wearing, the stupid hospital gown, and he hitched his blanket up to his armpits—not much of an improvement really. He began fussing over his hair, worrying once again when the hell he'd last taken a shower, remembering that he was unshaven and probably patchy as hell—although thankfully not pulling off the homeless meth addict look Lydia had chastised him for only days before.

Shit.

He dropped his hand on his lap as he sat up in bed, hoping to at least make a good impression with his manners, since he clearly couldn't do it with his appearance. Although everything his mom had ever taught him about being polite had completely fucked off to who knew where, leaving him a gaping moron as he gazed at the most intimating person he'd ever met in his entire life.

Alpha Hale crossed her arms over her chest, lips pursed as she glanced back and forth between the two patients before settling on Stiles. She looked him up and down, lips twisting to one side and curving up, an amused grin on her face as her scent became something very pleasant.

But no less intimidating and scary.

Because _State Alpha_.

“You must be Stiles,” she stated warmly, voice sweeter than he expected from someone of her position. But then again, she wasn't visiting as a State Alpha; she was visiting as a mom. Made a lotta sense that she'd adopt a different tone and that she'd leave the Alpha outside.

At least he hoped she had.

“Yes, ma'am. Alpha. Alpha Ma'am,” he rambled, plastering a nervous smile on his face that she grinned at.

“I've heard a lot about you. Although not a whole lot of it was from my son,” she informed him, giving Derek a pointed look that had his ears burning bright red as he shuffled further under his blankets like a kid busted reading comic books after bedtime. Turning back to Stiles, she shifted her weight, clearing her throat. “I must say I'm surprised by all this,” she stated, waving a hand back and forth between the two men before refolding her arms. “But looking back, I really shouldn't be.”

“I am so sorry, Mom,” Derek immediately spoke up, struggling to push himself up to a sitting position, leaning back on one hand to support his weight. “It was all my fault, all my idea. Don't be mad at Stiles okay, he's totally innocent, it's all me. I take full responsibility. And don't be mad at Stu either, just be mad at me.”

Stiles watched him with wide eyes, surprised to see someone ramble who wasn't himself. Normally he was the nervous mouth-vomiter in situations like this, but hey. First time for everything, he figured.

Saved Stiles from making an ass of himself.

The Alpha smiled fondly, holding up a hand to cut him off and Derek immediately clapped his mouth shut, slumping in his seat with his head ducked like a remorseful and fully chastised little kid “It's okay, hun,” she assured him. “The whole thing was explained to me by the sheriff and a lovely nurse named Melissa so I understand.” She refolded her arms and sighed, scent turning disapproving and Derek's head tilted to the side in supplication. “I'm not happy you lied to me and about something as big and as serious as a Mating, though,” she stated, voice harsher than it had been.

Derek's guilt was almost a palpable thing, the scent of it hanging heavy in the air, and Stiles only just managed to keep himself in his bed. But fuck was it hard to, when everything in him was _screaming_ to go comfort his Mate, to make him happy and feel okay again.

But he still wasn't sure if it was even his place to do that, if it would be welcome. If the Alpha in the room with them would approve.

So he stayed put, balling his blanket up in his fists and telling his grumbling wolf to put a lid on it.

“But I forgive you,” she went on, causing Derek's head to immediately pop up. “Considering the circumstances surrounding the lie and the reasons behind it, I'm over it.”

Derek visibly sagged with relief, the air leaving him on a long exhale, small smile playing on his lips. Stiles hid his own grin, fingers relaxing around his blanket, wolf calming inside his head.

The Alpha turned to Stiles then and he straightened up in his seat, giving her his full attention, brow furrowing in confusion as her scent turned remorseful and melancholic. “I owe you an apology on behalf of my family for everything my brother has put you and your father through.”

He waved her off before quickly hiding his hand behind his back and pretending he hadn't just done that. “You don't need to,” he insisted, friendly smile on his face. “I don't blame you or hold it against any of the Hales. I wouldn't—and I know my dad wouldn't either—blame an entire family for something one member did.” He thought of other families out there who'd been in similar circumstances, ostracized because one person did something unspeakable and the rest of them suffered for it, Allison's Disney dimples flashing in his mind. “And I hope you wouldn't do the same.”

Alpha Hale frowned deeply, the action still seeming incredibly dignified solely for being performed by her. “Of course not,” she replied, perturbed. “Why would you ask that of me? What exactly has your family done?” She raised a single eyebrow in a move that all her kids seemed to have inherited from her and the family resemblance was so strong at that moment, Stiles was almost knocked down.

He shook his head vehemently. “Not my family, ma'am. The Argents.” He noted Derek stiffening out the corner of his eye and continued on. “Allison is a really good friend of mine and the Mate of a guy who's practically a brother to me. And her dad, Chris, is a great man and neither of them are anything like Kate.”

The frown and confused scent returned as she slowly nodded. “I believe you. But I'm not entirely sure what this has to do with anything.”

Derek turned to look at Stiles, the omega doing the same, mouthing the word “Laura” and getting a nod in return. Clearing his throat, he switched his focus to his mom and murmured to her that he'd explain it later.

She sighed harshly, shaking her head as she pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered to herself. Stiles glanced at Derek with a curious expression, getting a head shake from him that he interpreted as a “don't worry about it” so he shrugged and let it go, turning his attention back to the lone female in the room.

Seeming to be over it, Alpha Hale refolded her arms and shook her head to flick her hair over her shoulder. “Someone will be stopping by soon to bring you both a change of clothes,” she informed them, tone all mom-like business, like she was organizing a day-cation to the zoo rather than discussing their hospital stay. “You should be getting discharged by the end of the day from what I understand. In the meantime, try and get some rest, okay?”

Both men nodded obediently and a warm smile formed on her face. She walked over to Derek with surprisingly silent steps considering her choice in footwear, leaning down to kiss his forehead and tell him that she loved him. He returned the sentiment, scent warm and content and Stiles turned his attention to his lap as his chest grew tight. Witnessing moments of maternal affection always brought back memories of his mom and the knowledge that he was no longer able to experience those sort of things. No more kisses on the forehead, no more sweet scented hugs, no more lipstick stains on his cheek, no more soft singing or sewn up teddy bears or _Happy Mother's Day_ cards.

He heard the swish of fabric and a couple footsteps, Alpha Hale turning to him and he quickly hid his melancholy as he peered up at her. She smiled softly down at him, hands folded primly in front of her, her eyes even brighter up close.

“I wish that we'd met under better circumstances,” she mused, still smiling. “But it was still a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“It was an honor,” he told her honestly, smiling, seeing the expression returned.

“I hope you'll be around more often. It would be nice to get to know you better.”

His smile grew shaky at that, honestly not entirely sure if that was a possibility. It all depended on the outcome of a conversation he'd yet to have with Derek, but he knew one thing: he wasn't about to just roll over and give his Mate up the way he had before.

“Feel better soon, sweetie,” Alpha Hale told him gently before leaning down and kissing him on the forehead. With one final soft smile, she was gone with a swish of fabric and a wave of authority.

Stiles sat there stunned, mouth hanging open as he stared after her, even when the door had closed behind her. Had that really just happened? Had she just kissed his forehead? Had she really just called him “sweetie”? What the fuck?

He caught the scent of surprise coming from his left and he turned to see Derek in a similar state as the one he was in, eyes wide and mouth agape before he shook himself out of it and cleared his throat.

“My mom would hug Stu and kiss his cheek,” he commented, almost absently, still staring at the door. “She called him 'hun' a few times I think. But she never kissed him on the forehead.” He turned to Stiles, eyes brighter than ever, glistening in the fluorescent light with held back tears. “She reserves that move for her children only.”

The omega flushed hard at the implication, heart pounding wildly in his chest, heart rate monitor beeping loudly behind him. His wolf was losing its everloving mind in his head, jumping about and yipping excitedly, tail wagging so hard it was a surprise it hadn't hit itself in the face yet. It was like he'd been accepted by his Mate's mom, his Mate's _alpha_. He'd just gotten the seal of approval from a woman that apparently hadn't fully given it to her son-in-law, even after two years together. And he'd gotten it within a first meeting, without even knowing where exactly he stood with her son and what the hell was gonna happen between them once they left the hospital later on that day.

“Yeah,” he murmured, turning to stare at the door once more. “We have a _lot_ to talk about.”


	25. The Joining.

They weren't discharged until after dinner, his dad thankfully saving them from another hospital meal by sneaking in food from the diner. Stiles practically inhaled his curly fries, much to his old man's chagrin, Derek torn between amused and disgusted.

But at least the guilty scent the alpha was emanating lessened in degree somewhat at it. It had stunk up the room pretty much the second his dad had walked through the door. Apparently they'd formally met when Stiles was asleep—which he wasn't too thrilled about, despite both alphas insisting he needed the sleep more than to get involved, which, no, wrong, so very wrong—and while the sheriff had told Derek he didn't blame him for Stu's death, Derek just didn't believe him. Apparently it was a habit of his, believing himself to be at fault for things that were beyond his control. Stiles was gonna break him of that bullshit martyr complex if it killed him.

Which hopefully it wouldn't. One near-death experience was enough. He didn't need another nor to experience the whole thing.

Clothes were sweat pants and tees, his favorite giant gray and black striped hoodie thrown in for Stiles. His dad explained that Laura had dropped Derek's things off for him before rushing off somewhere he wasn't entirely sure where. Stiles frowned at that, wondering what exactly was so damn important she couldn't stay and wait to see how her brother was doing in the hospital.

Then again, being the State Alpha Protege meant she probably had a ton of shit to do that Stiles couldn't even begin to imagine.

But still. Five minutes? No?

Whatever.

They took turns changing in the bathroom and once the paperwork was all signed and done, they were free to go. His dad drove them back to the Stilinski house, wincing as they parked in the driveway.

“I'm working the overnight shift tonight so you have plenty time to—” He cut himself off, waving his hand around to encompass what he was trying to say, grimace deepening.

Stiles caught on fairly quickly, eyes widening and cheeks heating up. “Oh my god, Dad!” he yelled from the passenger seat, scrambling to unbuckle his seat belt and getting tangled in it instead. “We get it, okay, that's great, thank you, have a great night, stay safe, love you.” He practically fell out the sheriff SUV in his haste to get away from his dad and his x-rated implications, slamming his door on Derek's polite “thank you for the ride, sir.”

Once the two of them were locked inside the house, Stiles led Derek straight up to his room. It was obvious they were gonna end up there anyway and starting out in the living room was just delaying the inevitable. He figured he'd just save them the time and hassle by heading right there.

He flipped the light on to find that his room still locked exactly the same as it had when he left—although someone had made the bed and put away his dirty PJs that he'd stripped off when he called Lydia to finally tell her something was wrong—furniture in the same place, the same comforting scent of everything being his. He turned to see Derek following him in, closing the door behind himself, every muscle on him tense. A frown formed on the omega's face, confusion coloring his scent as he tried to decipher the other man's chemosignals, getting a whole lotta nothing.

Turning around, Derek scented the air, eyes flashing red at the overwhelming amount of _Stiles_ in the room. Between one blink and the next, Stiles found himself pinned against a wall, the alpha buried in his neck and inhaling deeply. A nose trailed up along his throat and he was hit with flashes of Peter doing just that, pinning him on the floor, sniffing at his neck and letting out that satisfied hum over him still being untouched. He heard the pleased growl as Peter talked about Claiming him, the fear he'd felt that he wasn't leaving that dungeon/ basement/ whatever with his virginity intact coming back and freezing him all over.

Derek immediately lifted his head, worry furrowing his brow and parting his lips, concern highlighting his scent. “What? What's wrong?” he asked softly, now green eyes roaming him as though assessing him for damage, as though trying to find the answer somewhere on Stiles.

The omega shook his head, licking his lips as he tried to keep his scent neutral. He didn't want Derek to know, didn't wanna ruin whatever could potentially happen between the two of them, didn't wanna give his Mate any more reason to go after his uncle and tear of his head. Peter had taken enough from Stiles, from both of them. He wasn't gonna let the bastard take anything else.

“Nothing,” he lied easily, swallowing. “I just think we should talk first.” The alpha cocked his head to the side in question and he rolled his eyes. “I don't want my first time to happen with a bunch of questions lingering over us, okay? I've waited twenty years for this moment, I can wait another twenty minutes.”

Nodding, Derek backed off, glancing around the room as he roughed his hand over his mouth and jaw, the rasp of too long whiskers against his palm filling the air. His eyes focused on the desk and he strode over, turning the chair around and sitting on it with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped. Neutral place, safe place, probably really fucking smart.

Stiles gave him a thumbs up before shuffling his way over to his bed, sitting on the edge and facing the other man. He wiped his hands on the sides of his sweats as he blew out a breath, trying to figure out where to start, what to say. The worst part was he had about a million things to say and nothing at the same time, all of it jumbling together into a big whirlwind of nonsensical sentences and thoughts in his head that he couldn't get straight.

Typical. Fucking typical.

Tugging at his hair, he glanced around the room for a cue, for a sign, for _something_ to help him out and coming up short.

“So I'm just as big a boneheaded idiot as Laura keeps telling me I am,” Derek stated out of nowhere, startling a laugh out of Stiles as he jerked in his seat and snapped his head to him. “Because there's no way I could ever live without you.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie as he curled in on himself. “That's just the IBS talking,” he muttered self-deprecatingly, staring down at his sneaker-clad feet.

“No, it's not,” the alpha insisted, scooting forward to the edge of his chair and staring straight at the younger man. “It's you, just you. It's your humor, your intelligence, your smile and your laugh, the playful banter you have with me, your spazzy arm flails—k” He waved his hands around in a small imitation of the mentioned flails before leaning on his elbows once more. “—and the way you can't walk more than three feet without tripping.”

Stiles rolled his eyes at that, peering at the older man through his lashes, fighting as the corner of his lips tried to curve up in a smile. His heart was pounding in his chest at Derek's words, stomach fluttering and knotting, skin tingling. His entire world zeroed down to the man across from him, to the sounds leaving his lips and the words they created and the meaning behind them. Nothing else existed, nothing else mattered. Just Derek and this confession.

“Waking up next to you had been the best thing that ever happened to me and I was a fucking moron for letting that go,” he went on, completely genuine, earnest expression on his face.“I want that every morning and you sleeping next to me every night and I want more than just sex, okay? I want cuddles during _Star Wars_ marathons and spooning while we sleep and holding hands as we run errands, footsie when we go on dinner dates, all of it, and only with you.”

Stiles swallowed hard as the weight of those words pressed down on him, looking up to meet sincere green eyes and a puppy dog expression that could rival Scott's. This was Derek at his most raw, his most vulnerable, open and exposed for Stiles' eyes only. He was laying it all on the table without expecting anything in return. He'd flayed open his heart and served it on a silver platter, not knowing how it would be received, if it would be accepted and cared for, or stomped on and thrown in the trash.

And as much as Stiles just wanted to say “okay, let's do it”, he couldn't. Because life wasn't that simple, _their lives_ weren't that simple. IBS or not, those same problems that had separated them before still existed and they weren't just gonna magically disappear with a few sweet words and a swoon-worthy confession.

Swallowing hard, he began drawing lines on the carpet with his toe, frown forming on his face as he stared down at it. “I can't leave Beacon Hills,” he reminded the older man. “I can't leave my dad, my friends. My life's here and I. I can't give that up.”

“I'll leave Oak Creek,” Derek responded easily, Stiles' flicking his eyes up to see the nonchalant shrug the alpha gave. It was as though he'd put previous thought into this and had already made a decision and—

Which he probably had.

There were moments in the hospital when Stiles was asleep and Derek was awake. There was the entire month they'd spent apart. There were plenty opportunities for Derek to consider his options, weigh them, make a pros and cons list before finally choosing one.

And he'd chosen to give up his life in Oak Creek because he knew how important Beacon Hills was to Stiles.

“I'll follow you to the ends of the Earth, Stiles,” Derek went on, just as serious as before. “If you wanna live in Beacon Hills, then I will, too. I'll get a job at the sheriff's station like Parrish, get a place here, and when you're ready, you can move in.”

Stiles' brows went up at that, surprise punching him square in the face. Derek didn't tell him that he had to immediately move in, didn't tell him that he needed to just get over it and move to Oak Creek anyway. He was going against every alpha norm and giving in to the omega's wants rather than demanding they follow his commands. He was giving the omega freedom to decide for himself and plan his life around that, if he was wanted and if it was all right by the omega.

Fucking hell.

“I have school up in Palo Alto,” Stiles reminded him, not wanting the guy to move to Beacon Hills for a Mate who wasn't even gonna be there.

“I'll visit on weekends,” Derek answered with a shrug, another predetermined answer. “I don't care. I'll wait for you to graduate, to get any additional degrees you want. I don't mind.”

The omega cocked an eyebrow at that, thinking the guy was a little _too_ agreeable. It would be taking advantage really, he knew that, that rarely heard voice in his head pointing that out. “You'd seriously be okay with just giving up your life to move here?”

He nodded, completely sincere. “I've thought long and hard about it. My mind's made up. I'll do whatever you wanna do and I'm willing to give up anything and everything if it means you're happy.”

Well, that was an interesting statement.

And fucking romantic in a way.

But that was Derek, ever the self-sacrificing idiot, giving up anything and everything out of some belief that he didn't deserve it.

Except, in this case, it wasn't because he didn't think he deserved it. He just wanted Stiles to be happy, that was all, even if it cost him.

It was definitely an interesting concept, and Stiles wouldn't be Stiles if he didn't test that shit out and push it to its limits.

He pressed his lips together as he nodded, pretending to mull things over and weigh his own options, even though his mind was pretty much made up. “What if we complete the Bond, just have sex and you knot me, and then we go our separate ways forever? That's it.” He slashed his still-pocketed hands in front of his body. “No more, nothing else. Done deal, end of.”

The alpha's fists clenched where they hung between his knees, eyes flashing momentarily, jaw tensing as every muscle in his body tightened. “If that's what you want, then that's what we'll do,” he ground out, sounding completely genuine, like he'd really do just that, no matter how much he hated it.

“You're really be willing to let me go,” he commented, in awe. Because if the situation were reversed, he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to do the same.

Okay, he totally had done that very fucking thing, had walked away from Derek because it'd been what Derek wanted. But now that he knew how fucking godawful life was without his Mate, he didn't think he'd be able to put himself through it once more and let Derek go. He was too damn selfish.

“Yes,” the older man rasped, swallowing hard. “I'd rather spend the rest of my life miserable and empty and with an unsatisfied wolf if it meant you were happy and living the life you wanted.”

Fucking hell.

Again.

Ducking his head, Stiles fought off his smirk, nodding. Even if his decision hadn't been totally and completely made already, that would've settled it. “What if the life I want includes you?” he asked quietly, hearing the other man inhale sharply, catching the scent of shock and hope. Lifting his head, he let the smile spread across his face, meeting green eyes with his whiskey ones. “That morning wasn't the best thing ever for just you. I want the cuddles and the spooning and the hand holding, too. I miss your dimples and your dry humor and your snarky quips. I miss your scent in my nose and your heartbeat in my ear and your heat against me and I want it all back. Now.”

A grin spread across the other man's face, dimples obscured by too-long whiskers, eyes flashing red momentarily. “Is it okay to Claim you now?” he asked in a sexy rumble, grin turning feral, dangerous light glinting in his eyes.

His cock twitched in his boxers and his hole pulsed and his wolf howled and yeah, he was totally on board with that plan. His mouth hung open like an idiot as he nodded dumbly before snapping himself out of it, holding a hand up in warning. “No Bite though,” he declared. “Not yet.”

Derek nodded rapidly before practically pouncing on him, their lips crashing together as Stiles was knocked back onto the bed.

Clothes were shed in a flurry of limbs and fabric, surprisingly with minimal tearing or ripping. An arm was wrapped around his back and he was hauled up the bed, moved so that his head was on the pillows before Derek lowered himself onto him, pressing them together from chest to groin, Stiles' legs spreading to accommodate him. He gasped at the sensation of bare skin on bare skin, tingles breaking out over his flesh. That now-familiar burning sensation was back, fire spreading throughout him, all of it originating where Derek was touching him.

Now pressed together naked, things slowed down considerably. They took their time to taste and feel one another, Stiles refamiliarizing himself with the taste of Derek on his tongue, the weight of him pressing him into the mattress. He hitched a leg up, running the arch of his foot down along a muscular calf, bucking up to press their groins together more. The alpha trembled above him, his hips rolling, cocks sliding together with precome for lube, his fingers trailing through Stiles' hair as his tongue delved inside the omega's mouth.

A hand slid down Stiles' hip, cupping his ass, massaging it and pulling it to spread his cheeks. He let out a whimper, the sound muffled by lips on his, hips bucking to show how very fucking okay he was with current proceedings. He fully wrapped his leg around the other man's waist, hooking his foot just above his ass, fingers clawing at broad shoulders.

Derek's fingers slid closer to his crack, the pad of his middle one rubbing at his hole. Stiles pulled his mouth away to gasp, eyes fluttering open to find green ones already watching him, half-lidded in pleasure. He got lost in the swirl of colors in the irises, in the feel of that finger massaging his entrance, pressing against the tight pucker but never slipping inside. More slick leaked out of him, hole opening to welcome any part of Derek inside, the alpha taking the natural lube and rubbing it around his rim.

“Fuck, Der, _please_ ,” Stiles breathed out, gasping and tilting his head back as he finally got what he wanted, as that finger finally slid inside, not stopping until it was buried completely. He squeezed around it, trying to hold it inside him, and was reward with a rub at his prostate. He cried out, blunt nails digging into sweat slick shoulders, eyes drifting shut in pleasure.

“So beautiful,” Derek murmured, burying his head in the crook of Stiles' neck and inhaling. He slipped his finger out to the first knuckle, hooking his finger and tugging at the rim to stretch it further, making the omega whine. A few brief pulls then he slid his finger all the way in once more, thrusting it slowly in and out.

The younger man was breathing shakily, head swimming, hole stretching and loosening. He could feel the prickle of too long whiskers on the skin of his neck, the rasp of beard burn that he wanted to feel everywhere. Lips grazed the sensitive edge of his ear, soft breaths ghosting over him, making him shudder and shake. He was slowly falling apart piece by piece, all at the hands of Derek once again, and all he had in him was a single finger.

Fuck, his cock was gonna _kill_ him.

The finger slipped out of him and he whined, squeezing his inner-muscles to try and keep it in. Derek raised the finger to his mouth, sliding it inside and sucking on it, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he groaned at the taste. Stiles bit his lower lip as he watched, cock twitching, wolf showing its belly in pleasure. Their alpha liked their taste, a fact he'd forgotten but was being reminded of in the best fucking way.

“Need more,” Derek practically growled before moving down the younger man's body. Hands on the back of Stiles' thighs, he pushed his legs back, folding him in half, lifting his ass off the bed. The omega held his legs in place and spread his cheeks, putting more of himself on display, too far gone to feel shy or embarrassed. Eyes flashed red and a pleased growl filled the room, Derek snatching up a pillow and sliding it under his Mate to help prop him up and put him in the right position.

Then he dove in.

He wasted no time, no gentle licks or slow build up, not like last time. No, this was eating out in its more carnal form, broad flat tongue lapping at him, covering his hole in saliva, taking in every drop of slick that had escaped. Stiles let out a moan-tinged gasp, head tilting back, hole twitching as sparks of pleasure radiated all over him, originating from where Derek was licking him open.

The alpha held his cheeks, Stiles moving his hands behind his knees, thumbs pressing on either side of his hole and spreading it open. He pressed a sloppy open mouth kiss to it, sucked at it, moaning as more slick leaked out, eyes shuttering closed. Spearing his tongue, he slipped it inside, gladly lapping up whatever the younger man was giving to him.

Every exhale was a reedy moan, the sounds getting higher in pitch as fingers came into play, first one, then another, stretching him further, holding him open for the older man's tongue. His grip on his thighs was slipping, his skin becoming sweatier, his brain turning to mush and making him incapable of sending commands to his body to hold on. Derek took over, his fingers slipping out of him, hands sliding up his legs and holding them back. He let out a whine at the loss, hole gaping and clenching around nothing. But the whines were changed to gasps as open mouth kisses were pressed to his perineum, as one ball was sucked on, then the other, as a tongue traveled up his cock, following the prominent vein before it flicked repeatedly on the bundle of nerves just below the head.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles breathed out, panting as he stared down at the alpha, watching as the tip of his tongue slipped in the slit of his dick. His hips jerked at the sensation, Derek grinning in response before sucking the head into his mouth, slowly lowering himself down and taking more of Stiles inside. “Oh fuck, shit, _god_!” he cried out, head slamming back against the pillow as he felt himself being enveloped in wet heat.

Derek bobbed his head up and down, sucking hard on the length, moaning like he was enjoying it as much as Stiles was. And who the hell knew? Maybe he really _was_ getting off on it. Rumor had it alphas were pretty much designed to please omegas, just as much as omegas were designed to please alphas. And with Derek's earlier declarations of doing whatever Stiles wanted to do, maybe it was true.

But no matter the case, Stiles felt his orgasm building fast, that familiar tingle at the base of his spine becoming more intense, balls drawing up tight to his body. It was a few more bobs of the head, a few more hard sucks, and a flick of the tongue underneath the head that had him shooting into the alpha's mouth. His back arched off the bed as he cried out, the older man's name a praise and a curse rolling off his lips, one hand smacking the mattress as the other tangled in dark hair and pulled.

The alpha sucked at him until nothing else came out, pulling off to lap him clean until Stiles hissed with oversensitivity. The omega laid there like a worn-out sack of jello, his entire body tingling as he came down from his high, as he basked in the afterglow. He felt Derek kissing his way back up, felt him halfway lay on him with his nose nuzzling in the crook of his neck, and he wrapped a tired arm around him, patting his shoulder.

“I'mma return the favor,” he promised, struggling to keep his eyes open. Until he felt a nip at the side of his neck and his eyes flew open, a gasp being pulled from him.

“Don't worry about it,” Derek rumbled, nosing behind his ear, pressing his grin into his neck. “I just needed you to get off once so you'll be more relaxed.”

The reminder of what was about to happen had Stiles tensing all over, nerves returning and twisting his stomach. Losing one's virginity was a big fucking deal. And yeah, he knew he was ready, that he wanted to lose it to Derek, that he was all for it happening right then and there, but it was still a nerve-wracking thing. Because it was _sex_ , for the first time _ever_. Logistically he knew what was about to happen and what he was in for, but it was one thing to know in theory and another to know from actual experience.

Which he obviously didn't have.

Because _virgin_.

Derek lifted his head, cupping the younger man's cheek as he let out a soft “hey”, meeting his eyes. “We don't have to do this,” he assured him, thumb rubbing the apple of his cheek, causing flashes of their shared Dreams to come to Stiles' mind. “We can wait. I'll be just as happy to hold you all night.”

A smile formed on Stiles' face at that, at how fucking cheesy his Mate was, as well as how supportive and understanding and...just _perfect_. He wasn't pressuring, wasn't forcing, wasn't ordering Stiles to get over it and just present already 'cause this was gonna happen whether he wanted it to or not. No, he was leaving it up to Stiles, giving him an out should he want it. No pressure, no orders, no nothing. Just Derek being... perfect.

Just Derek being Derek.

Fucking hell, Stiles might be falling for the guy. Seriously.

“I'm ready,” he declared lowly, wrapping a hand around the back of his Mate's neck, staring him right in those fan-fucking-tastic green-gray-gold-everything eyes. “This needed to happen, like, a month ago.” With that, he hauled the other man in closer and kissed him hard, practically smashing their lips together.

Derek breathed out a laugh at his enthusiasm, pulling back and slowing the kiss down, making it more effective, more passionate. He moved so he was between Stiles' spread legs once more, the omega bracketing him in, their lips moving together in mind-melting motions. His hands roamed a muscular back, feeling the dips and planes of it, the curve where it turned into his ass. A nice ass. A _very_ nice ass that Stiles now got to feel whenever he wanted for the rest of his life.

Fuck yes.

His lips curved into a smile, back arching to press himself against his Mate more. His skin felt heated all over, red and flushed from arousal, the alpha's higher temp no longer burning him. It was a pleasant warmth that spread all over him, settled something inside him as well as sparked something else, igniting his arousal once more and building that fire back up.

He barely noticed when a finger slipped inside, then another, only really becoming aware of it when they began scissoring, stretching him. He pulled away from Derek's lips to gasp, their breath mingling between them as he panted. The alpha's hips were moving, his cock sliding along the divot of the younger man's hip, leaving a trail of precome from his motions. Stiles groaned at the sensation, at the knowledge that he was being scent-marked by it, that soon he'd be full of his alpha's come and his scent and everyone was gonna know who he belonged to.

And who Derek belonged to in return.

A third finger slipped inside and he cried out, the stretch a pleasurable burn, fingers thrusting in and out slowly to loosen him up. His prostate was thankfully ignored, the bundle still too sensitive, but his cock was twitching where it was laying limp on his lower abdomen. Arousal flooded him, rushing through his body with his blood, red hot lava being carried throughout every inch of him. He was trembling all over again, shaking from the inside out, and when a fourth finger joined the others, he felt like he was gonna burst open.

Derek cradled him close as his breathing became erratic, the fingers not moving, just resting inside him. Lips caressed every inch of his flesh that could be reached, keeping him in his skin, in the moment, in that bed with Derek and not flying off to outer space or wherever it felt like he might escape to.

His cock was half-hard again when Stiles nodded, swallowing hard as he met his Mate's eyes, licking his lips before speaking two words that held more weight than he thought possible. “I'm ready.”

The fingers scissored and stretched him for another moment more before slipping out, Derek stroking his hard cock with them, mixing the omega's natural lubricant with the copious precome that had leaked from him. Stiles groaned at the sight, at the knowledge that his Mate's dick was covered in both their fluids, both their scents. He was hit with a huge urge to lean down and lap it up, lick him all over. He wanted the weight of it on his tongue and taste of them in his mouth, more than he'd wanted anything ever before.

Which was a thought that soon felt like a lie as the tip of Derek's cock pressed against his entrance, his hole twitching open to welcome him inside. He wanted _that_ more than he'd wanted anything ever before.

He held his legs against his chest again, making it easier, then Derek pressed in until the head slipped inside, pausing there, and Stiles squeezed around the mushroom tip. He bit his lower lip at the sensation, at being penetrated by something other than fingers, wolf howling with the knowledge that he was now no longer technically a virgin. He had a cock inside him, granted it was only about an inch at most, but still. His Mate was inside him in a way that he refused to be a month ago, when it seemed like everything was keeping them apart.

When really, it was just themselves.

The alpha let out a shuddering breath, holding himself up on shaky arms. He shuffled until his legs were bent, tucked up on either side of the younger man, pushing further inside of him until his groin was pressed up against Stiles' ass. And he was fully inside.

Stiles laid there trembling, staring up at the older man in awe and vulnerability. The intrusion was weird, strange, indescribable really. It was _so_ much different than fingers, filling him in a contrastive way, a more complete way. But fucking hell if it wasn't the most amazing thing Stiles had ever felt. His every nerve ending felt alight, sparking to life as Derek slowly pulled out to the head then slid back inside in smooth motions, the rhythm slow to let him acclimate to the sensations. He felt completely overwhelmed but totally at peace at the same time, mind oddly quiet but filled with a million half-formed thoughts simultaneously.

Derek hooked his legs in the crook of his elbows, leaning down and pressing them together, connecting their lips in a kiss they could barely keep going. Stiles felt dizzy-drunk on sensations, his every breath a half-pant, struggling between closing his eyes in pleasure and keeping them open to see the emotions play on his Mate's face.

Because Derek was beautiful like this, mouth hanging open, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded as he looked down at the omega in awe and ecstasy. A hand cupped Stiles' cheek and he turned his head to kiss the older man's palm, to suck the flesh between his thumb and forefinger, teeth nipping at it. The groan Derek let out brought tingles up Stiles' spine, his cock fully hard and caught in the friction of their sweat-covered abdomens rubbing together with every thrust.

“So fucking perfect,” the alpha breathed out, a swear following. “Oh god. _Stiles_.”

He whined in response, his hips joining in the rhythm on instinct, rolling up to meet every inward thrust. The speed increased, Derek's hips snapping and jolting the omega, punching the breath out of him. Time slowed down and sped up, a few minutes or an hour later, the alpha biting his lip and muttering out a curse as he looked between their bodies.

“Knotting isn't gonna work in this position,” he pointed out as he paused his motions, sitting up but still remaining inside, the younger man's legs falling on either side of him. “It's just gonna lead to a whole lotta cramps and sleeping limbs.”

Stiles refused to think about how Derek would know that, convinced himself that it was just common sense that allowed him to figure it out. He squeezed his inner-muscles on a tease and as a distraction, the older man slapping his hand against the wall as he gasped and rolled his eyes to the back of his head, muttering out a few swears.

“Oh, fuck, don't do that,” he rumbled, chest heaving as his hips rolled in a dirty grind on automatic before he stilled them once again. “I can't think when you do that.”

“Good,” Stiles replied with a smirk, squeezing again.

A small warning growl left the alpha before he pulled out, making the younger man whine, Derek slapping the side of his ass playfully. “C'mere, troublemaker,” he murmured, taking hold of his hand and hauling him into a sitting position.

The omega let himself be moved, manhandled around until Derek was sitting with his back against the headboard with a lap full of Stiles. He had flashes of their first time fooling around together, of riding his Mate's fingers just like this, being amazed that an alpha would allow an omega to be on top like this.

His cheeks were spread apart and he wrapped his fingers around the older man's cock, stroking it, feeling how wet it was from his slick. He bit his lip at that, at the fact that he'd marked his Mate, before he lined him up and sank down, filling himself up. Groans escaped them both as he settled on his alpha's lap and he was glad they'd left the lights on, just like last time. He loved seeing the red flush on Derek's cheeks and the play of his dark lashes against his tan skin, the flash of scarlet in his irises and the teeth marks on his lower lip.

Draping his arms over broad shoulders, Stiles lifted himself in instinctual motions, riding the older man's cock much as he had his fingers, mouth hanging open in pleasure. Derek seemed to be in a similar state, his own lips parted as he let out shaky breaths and gasps. His hands tried in vain to grab at the omega's lower back, not finding any purchase, and Stiles could feel the pinprick of claws against his skin, making him shudder.

“Mark me,” he requested in a whisper, rubbing his nose against the tip of the other man's, letting his own claws extended and fangs descend. The alpha whimpered and he said it again, accompanying it with a nip to his lower lip with his fangs.

“Shit!” Derek cried out, hips bucking up and making Stiles keen.

“Oh fuck, do that again,” he keened, head falling back in pleasure.

“Next time,” he promised, pressing claws between his shoulder blades. “Next time I'm gonna pound into you so hard, you won't be able to sit or walk right for a week.”

“Promise?” Stiles questioned, raising his head back to look the other man in the eye, riding the roll of his Mate's gently bucking hips.

“Swear it.” He cupped the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss, lips moving against each other filthily.

Stiles slipped his tongue inside the other man's mouth, groaning as it ran along the edge of fangs, a spark of danger sizzling up his spine. Control was slowly being lost, the animal winning out over the human half, adding an element of risk to the whole thing. Because it would be so easy for those claws to tear in a little too deep, those fangs to bite down a little too hard, for either one of them to wind up in the hospital because they'd gotten carried away in the heat of the moment.

But it wasn't gonna happen. Because Stiles trusted Derek with his life, knew the alpha would never hurt him. And that trust went both ways, Derek knowing Stiles would never harm him.

They pulled away with a gasp, foreheads leaning together, hips rolling together in a dirty grind. Eyes remained locked on one another, the older man's brow pulled in a pleasure-filled way, mouthing another swear.

“I might be in love with you,” he confessed, Stiles nodding vehemently in return, squeezing his Mate's cock as he sank down onto it and making him swear loudly. “I'm definitely in love with you,” Derek corrected, a hand pressed between the omega's shoulder blades, one on his lower back. “Oh fuck, I'm so stupidly in love with your crazy, spastic ass.”

Stiles didn't have it in him to be offended, hand reaching out to brace himself against the wall. “I love you, too, you broody alpha asshole.”

A groan-tinged whine left the alpha as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and his lids lowered, head tilting back. Stiles took advantage of the newly exposed skin and ran his lips along it, whiskers prickling them and creating a pleasurable-painful buzzing. He nipped at his adam's apple, sucked the hollow of his throat, moaned in his ear about how good Derek felt, how well he filled him up, what an incredible job his alpha was doing at pleasing him. Arms wrapped tightly around him, the cock inside twitching and pulsing, and on his next push down, he felt something bigger pressing against his rim, taking more effort to fully get him inside.

He reached behind himself, feeling the base of his Mate's cock, the way it pulsed as he gripped it, how it expanded beneath his fingers. Derek's knot.

Oh. Shit.

The nerves came back once more, making him tremble. Knots tended to be the size of an alpha's fist and Derek didn't exactly have small hands. He already felt so full, so stuffed, and he had no idea how he was supposed to fit more inside him, body feeling stretched to the limit as it was.

Derek lifted his head, rubbing their noses together. “Relax,” he murmured, hands sliding down to cup his ass, massaging the cheeks. “I won't hurt you, I promise. Just bear down on it, okay, baby?”

The younger man nodded, swallowing hard, believing and trusting in his Mate. After all, Stiles was pretty much created for Derek, his omega nature designed so that he could handle an alpha's knot. Millions of omegas had done it before him and millions would do it after. He was making a big deal out of nothing.

Letting out a long breath, he did as was suggested, relaxing his body all over. On the next descent, he bore down, whining at the slightly painful stretch of his rim before the knot popped inside him. He let out a gasp at the sensation, feeling it expand even more, locking Derek inside him.

“Oh my god,” he breathed out, shaking all over. He squeezed around it, feeling the girth of it fully, the alpha gasping and moaning as he was hugged tightly. “Oh my _god_.”

“Fucking shit, you're incredible,” Derek moaned, hands rubbing up and down his Mate's sides. “You feel so good around me, baby.”

He whimpered at the praise, wolf preening in his head, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “Feel good in me,” he replied, gasping as his hips were gripped and Derek moved him in rocking motions. The action caused the knot to grind against his prostate and he felt his eyes roll back, sparks of pleasure bursting all over. Fucking eh, he'd been nervous over _this_? Totally fucking stupid.

Also, totally fucking stupid that they'd put this off for a month, that they didn't do this back when Stiles was in Oak Creek.

Okay, so they had their reasons for not doing it, and they still made sense in that moment. And yeah, it was totally worth the wait to experience such an intense pleasure and feel so close to his Mate both physically and emotionally, but still. They could've totally been doing this for a month. But no. They were both dumb.

Whatever. At least it was happening now.

And what was happening at that moment was Stiles' orgasm building up once more, spine tingling.

He rocked his hips more, angling himself so the knot was pressing right up against his prostate and that every grind rubbed against that bundle of nerves. He cupped the back of his Mate's neck, wary of his claws, the sharp nails of his other hand digging into his shoulder. Their foreheads pressed together, breath mingling between their parted lips, as they worked themselves and each other higher and higher and closer and closer.

“So close,” Stiles murmured, swears rolling off his lips.

Derek nodded, licking his lips, eyes angled down between their bodies. “Touch yourself,” he suggested, the omega's hand practically flying down to wrap around his cock, jerking himself in fast strokes. “So fucking hot.”

He let out a whine-tinged laugh, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. One of the older man's hands wrapped around the one on his cock, helping stroke himself and he had to stop himself from thrusting into the tight grip before he hurt them both on the knot still inside him.

“C'mon, baby. Come for me,” Derek murmured, nuzzling at his nose, fingers threading through his hair at the back of his head. “Paint me with it. Mark me up so everyone knows that I'm taken and that I'm yours.”

Stiles swore loudly, crying out his Mate's name as he came so hard he saw stars swirling in his vision. His entire body trembled as his shaking hand lost its grip around his cock, Derek stroking him and squeezing out every drop of come from him. His every breath felt like it was punched out of him as he stared wide-eyed at his Mate, vaguely aware that he'd scratched his claws along his shoulder blades and cut the alpha with them.

But Derek didn't seem to notice or care, staring right back at Stiles, mouth parted in painful pleasure, brow creased. The omega squeezed around him, massaging his knot, trying so fucking hard to get him to experience the pleasure he'd just felt himself.

“Stiles,” he whined out, pleading as he pulled his head closer, arm wrapping around his waist.

“Fill me,” the omega requested, cupping his Mate's face with both hands, getting come on one of his cheeks. “Fill me, fill me, fill me.”

Derek choked out a few breaths before tensing all over, eyes going wide, arm tightening around him and hand pulling at his hair and making his Mate groan. Stiles felt his cock and knot pulsing inside him, hot liquid gushing against his walls in a way that had him moaning, head falling onto his broad shoulder. Fuck, it was the hottest thing he'd ever felt—and not just literally. Knowing he'd gotten his Mate off, that his Mate was spilling inside him, marking him in that most carnal way. His scent would be all over Stiles, _inside_ Stiles, no scent-neutralizing soap able to wash it away.

Stiles had been claimed. He'd been marked. He was Derek's in every way possible.

He felt something inside him fall into place, puzzle pieces clicking together to form the bigger picture, a key sliding into a lock. His wolf was settled, calm, at peace with everything, and he knew what was going on without needing to be told. The Bond had been completed, the two of them connected in a way they never could be with anyone else, both of them—and their wolves—acknowledging their relationship as True Mates and forming a union that could only be broken by death.

Turning his head to the side, he caught sight of the faded Claiming Bite on Derek's tan skin, noting how low it was, barely above where his neck met shoulder. He rubbed his nose along the smooth flesh above it, grin forming on his face as he kissed and licked it, tasting the salt of his sweat and the musk of his alpha, Derek at its most pure.

“This is where my Bite will go,” he murmured before sinking blunt teeth into the spot.

Derek damn near howled as more come pulsed out of him, Stiles' grin growing.


	26. The Epilogue.

**_~*~SIX MONTHS LATER~*~_ **

Going back to Stanford wasn't exactly the return to normalcy Stiles had been expecting, just like his return to Beacon Hills after the events of Oak Creek hadn't been. For starters, he was able to move into a special dorm reserved for Bonded and Mated wolves whose Mates didn't attend the school. Granted it took a whole lotta paperwork, an interview with Stiles and Derek together, and several witness statements—he liked to think the one from the State Alpha went a long way in expediting the process of his application—but he was in before the start of his junior year that fall.

Lydia had also gotten in the same dorm, was even located in the room directly across the hall from him, and the two spent almost every free moment together—when not on Skype dates with their respective Mates, of course.

The solo room—with its own private bathroom, extra counter space, and giant bed—in the special dorm also meant that Derek was able to visit and even spend the night. And by night, clearly that meant an entire weekend, he and Parrish road tripping up together after the end of their shifts on Fridays and heading back down Sunday evenings before their Monday double-shifts to make up for the weekend off. The alpha often mentioned complaints from Haigh over special treatment of the "newbies", but Derek didn't seem all that bothered by it, proving he belonged in the sheriffs department through his hard work and diligence, earning his boss' respect rather than just being handed it because he was Mates with the man's son.

Hell, if Stiles knew his dad, then the sheriff was actually being twice as hard on Derek rather than taking it easier on him, but weekly phone calls with his old man had him confessing that he really respected and admired his former/ future son-in-law.

Derek had moved to Beacon Hills not long after he and Stiles had gotten together, giving his old house to Cora and leaving the furniture in it—except the bed, which Stiles insisted he take. The alpha now resided in a supposedly refurbished loft on the outskirts of town in what was formerly a warehouse district. All the old photos from his office were put up on the brick wall, along with one of him and Stu from the mantle that Stiles had finally gotten enough balls to look at, the pic surrounded by one of Derek and Stiles together and the last one the twins had taken together before Stu had run away. There were also new photos put up, including one of Stiles with the Hale siblings, Malia, and Kira, with no skeptical side-eyes from anyone.

The generic Toaster Pastries also came with Derek, who explained he preferred them over the name brand because there was more filling and it was tastier. Stiles never did explain why he pounced on him after that.

Braeden was named captain of the S-Dubs in a move no one argued with, having long since earned everyone's respect with her general badassery and take no shit from no one attitude. Cora was given the role of her second in command, replacing Parrish, who'd apparently held the position before her. Jackson had been let off his parole and punishment for lying about not knowing Stu, the truth of Stuart's situation coming out and explaining any wrongdoings on the alpha's part.

The Blaszkiewicz family tree had been explained to Alpha Martin in a private meeting between her, the sheriff, and Derek and she'd taken the news in stride, confessing that she'd found it strange that she couldn't recall anyone in her family being County Alpha before her father had taken the job when she was a child. It had also been decided that Derek would begin shadowing her during his free time to prepare for taking over the job himself, since he'd been raised being trained to become State Alpha. He later explained to Stiles that he and Laura had grown up not knowing who was older so neither of them would feel any pressure on their future role or jealous that the other was getting special treatment. His mom had been raised the same way with Peter, but thankfully the younger set of twins weren't as delusional or self-centered enough to believe they were entitled to anything.

State Alpha Hale—or Talia, as she kept insisting Stiles call her—was said to be very proud that Derek was now the Beacon County Alpha's Protege. Laura liked pointing out she was still technically the boss of Derek.

Speaking of Laura, she wound up reconnecting with Chris and the two were working things out in a long-distance relationship, mainly because he wanted to stay in Beacon Hills for Allison. Although Allison herself had confessed during a weekly group Skype session with Stiles, Lydia, and Scott that she wouldn't mind if her dad moved to Oak Creek, that he seemed happier than she'd ever seen him since her mom's death and it wasn't like he'd be moving across the country, just four hours north. Laura invited Chris and Allison, then in turn Scott and Melissa, to the Hale home for Christmas, which they all accepted. The same offer had been extended to the Stilinskis, but Derek had turned it down on their behalf, knowing both Stiles and his dad would rather spend that particular Christmas in their own home. Laura had completely understood then shoved several boxes of gifts in Derek's arms and told him to "fuck off to your boy already, it's Christmas, you ass".

Stiles adored the shit out of her and was glad she'd gotten over her upset over his not calling or keeping in touch, understanding his reasons why.

Derek had, of course, been completely right about the Stilinskis preferring to stay home for the holidays. There was just something about being in his own home for winter break that settled something within Stiles, that helped ease the melancholy the holiday always brought about. It was nothing against the Hales or the big ass mansion they called a home—which he'd visited several times over the past few months—but it just wasn't the same. Sure, he felt like he fit in and belonged and like he was becoming part of the Hale family and pack, but he was still a Stilinski. And with Stu now gone, he found himself seeking the familiarity and comfort of his Birth Pack.

Because there was something _very_ comforting about sleeping in the bed he'd had since he turned thirteen and his dad decided they were old enough for double beds now. There was something comforting about cooking in his own kitchen and not being told to go sit, he was a guest, don't worry about anything. There was something comforting about inhaling the scents of home and Pack and his dad and himself, with Derek's scent slowly blending in with it. There was something comforting about hanging up the same decorations they'd had since he was a kid, the heirloom star on top of the tree and his mom's hand painted nativity set in front of the living room window as always.

And he needed that comfort when he and Derek finally packed up Stu's room, trying to figure out what to keep and what to donate as they traded stories about the ghost that was always hanging around them but they never acknowledged. And that night as they tangled together under the sheets in Stiles' bed, they exchanged tearful anecdotes about the parents they'd each lost, marking the first time Derek had ever spoken about his dad in something other than the abstract.

Derek helped out with the tree, hauling it inside the house and holding it upright as Stiles gave directions on which way to turn it and his dad screwed it into the stand. The news droned on in the background, reporting on a plea deal Peter had struck, the alpha copping to everything in exchange for six life sentences, leading the sheriff to rant about how the treason charge alone should've sent him to the gallows. Stiles switched the TV off and played seasonal music from an internet radio app on his phone instead, refusing to think about Peter taking the prison sentence because he knew it gave him a better chance of escaping.

Everything was hung up the exact same way it always was, his dad giving his yearly swear-fest at the tangled lights and both of them giving their yearly comments on how pathetic and worn out the tinsel was, complete with the usual empty promise of “We'll get more next year”. Garland was wrapped around the staircase with its usual debate of whether or not it was spread out evenly and the wreath hung on the front door with its accompanying argument over its straightness and centering. Derek smirked the whole time, confessing that it reminded him of back home and his mom and Laura's constant heated discussions over the centerpiece not being centered and the angel on top of the tree being crooked. Stiles smiled at the anecdote, deciding he couldn't wait to spend the most wonderful time of the year with the Hales, figuring they could spend alternate holidays with each family.

Their kitschy Christmas themed hook ornaments were placed on the mantle in their usual positions, stockings hung from them in their usual order: Dad, Mom, Stuart, Stiles. The omega got teary when he hung up his twin's, the reminder of his death still hurting in a clawing, stinging, burning way. He knew in time it would be more bittersweet than painful to hang it up with his late mom's, but for the moment, it ached down to his soul, especially when he realized both deceased family members were in the center of their little order.

Derek knew something was wrong immediately, wrapping his arms around Stiles from behind and pressing his lips to the side of his head, rocking him back and forth in a comforting manner.

His dad cleared his throat from their left and they both snapped their heads to see him, Derek's scent shifting to worried and guilty that he'd done something wrong. Even all those months later, of being with Stiles while his dad was around, of working under the sheriff, he still freaked out that he was doing something wrong when his touches were completely innocent. Needless to say, Stiles rolled his eyes at a him a little.

Or a lot.

Whatever. He was an eye-roller. It was what he did.

The elder Stilinski waved the other alpha's worry off with a scoff, pulling a paper bag from behind his back. “I know I didn't discuss it with you boys beforehand,” he began, staring down at what he held in his hands, fingers smoothing the edge where it was folded down to hide its contents. “But that would've ruined the surprise. Beside, it's not like either of you will object or that we won't need this eventually.”

Confusion flooded the scents of the couple, Stiles frowning in puzzlement at his old man. “Dad? What are you talking about?”

Unfolding the top, he reached inside and pulled out another hook, along with a traditional red stocking, Derek's name in gold glitter across the fluffy white band along the top.

Just like the rest of the family's.

Stiles inhaled sharply at the sight of it, his heart pounding in his chest and his stomach flipping at the implication behind it. His dad had fully accepted Derek, viewed him as part of the family, part of their Pack. He was making the other alpha feel as welcome and as part of the festivities as possible.

Derek stiffened all over, gripping the omega a little tighter than before, his breathing having completely stopped. Stiles rubbed his forearm where it was wrapped around his chest, trying to ease him, trying to bring him back to reality and recognize this as the super fucking awesome thing that it was.

Not that Derek didn't recognize it. The grateful note in his scent said he did. But he was also smelling of uncertainty, of trepidation, like he believed it was gonna be taken away from him, like he was afraid to be too excited in case it was a joke or the elder Stilinski changed his mind.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice wavering, lump clearly in his throat.

His dad nodded, smile on his face. “You're family. You took care of one son to the best of your ability.” He held his hand up when Derek opened his mouth to argue, already anticipating it. Mainly because they'd had that same conversation about five-hundred times already and Derek needed to just shut up and accept it already. “Things were beyond your control and sometimes my idiot kids hide shit thinking it's for the best.” He gave a pointed look to Stiles, who began glancing around the room like he had no idea _what_ his dad was talking about or _who_ he could possibly be referring to because he was totally an angel. His dad rolled his eyes and shook his head before focusing on Derek once more. “I don't blame you for Stu. Never have and never will. And now I know for sure that you're gonna take care of my other son for the rest of your life.”

Derek remained just as stiff as before, scent completely serious and Stiles peeked to see the grave look on his face and in his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

An exasperated look formed on his dad's face, a sigh leaving him. “How many times have we been over this?” he questioned rhetorically, a familiar look on his face that Stiles was used to seeing aimed in his direction. “When we're at home, call me 'John'. Save that 'sir' bullshit for work.”

“Yes, si—John.”

Stiles snickered as his dad shook his head then stepped over to clap his deputy on the shoulder. “You'll get it one day, son,” he stated, holding the hook and stocking out for him to take.

Pulling away, Derek took the offered items and stepped over to the mantle, glancing at Stiles over his shoulder as though to make sure it was okay. The omega nodded, small smile on his face, his Mate putting the hook next to his own. His eyes got teary again, a lump forming in his throat as his chest got tight. It belonged there, completing the cheery picture it made with the garland draped over the mantle and the deep red bows on either end.

His eyes glanced to the side, thinking of the two people who weren't there to witness another person being included, another family member added, and his chest grew tight at it.

“Wish Mom and Stu were here to see this,” he murmured, sniffing as he wrapped his arms around himself, hands getting tangled in his red and green plaid flannel.

His dad wore a wistful smile, blue eyes shining for reasons other than the twinkling lights on the tree. “They are,” he replied lowly, thickly.

A kiss was pressed to Stiles' forehead, his hair ruffled before an arm draped itself over his shoulder, but when he looked around, no one was near him. Derek was still hanging his stocking on his hook, his dad was three feet to the left with his arms folded, eyes focused on his future son-in-law. Warmth flooded Stiles, a soft smile growing on his face as he realized his dad was right. They _were_ there to celebrate.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stiles' room had also been decorated for the holidays, although rather than having been done by himself like it usually was, he'd had help that year.

White twinkle lights hung from the shelves above his desk, over to his window, to the shelves above his bed, long drapes that completely encompassed the room like some hipster girl's photo on Tumblr. His desk featured a plastic two-foot tree, white lights wrapped around it, _Star Wars_ ornaments hanging from it due to his dad's refusal to let them _all_ be on the main family tree. Han Solo topped it, Stu's _Enterprise_ ornament featured prominently in the front. And in the back corner, a blow up Darth Vader with a Santa hat stood proudly, an early gift from his Mate who grinned widely at the excitement rolling off the omega.

After it had been set up, the fan whirring to keep it inflated, Stiles had practically pounced on Derek, the two soon naked and writhing against one another on top of his bed.

His eyes drifted over to it as he sucked his Mate down, grinning at the way Derek's teeth sank further into his bottom lip, the way his fists clenched around the dark blue sheets. The alpha let out a whimper as his head tilted back, veins showing in his neck as his entire body pulled taut, struggling to keep quiet. He let out a gasp as Stiles pulled back to the head, eyes going wide before they lowered to the omega between his legs, brow pulled in a pleased frown, mouth hanging open as he panted.

They both knew what they were doing was risky, that Stiles' dad was just down the hall, and despite the sheriff being fast asleep and everyone involved being legal, there was still a chance of the older alpha waking up and being none too pleased with what was happening beneath his roof. It wasn't that he wasn't aware that his son was now sexually active, but it was one of those things that he'd rather just not know about—or witness.

Hence the quiet sex.

Which had been challenging as fuck when Derek had eaten Stiles out like his life fucking depended on it and the omega had practically come his brains out, three fingers on his prostate and mouth sucking at his hole.

Jerk.

But two could play that game, Stiles smirking as he stared up at his alpha coyly, hands sliding up his muscular torso. Derek's breathing was shaky, chest shuddering with every exhale, a trembling hand rising up to cup the omega's cheek. His thumb rubbed at the apple of it, drifting down as Stiles slid his cock in his mouth once more, pad of the digit pressing against his cheek to feel himself.

“Fuck,” he breathed out reverently, fighting to keep his hips still.

Stiles hadn't been the best at this when he'd first started out, his lack of experience leading to a lack of skills. But for all his sloppy enthusiasm, he was a quick learner, soon figuring out what to do, when to do it, how to do it, little tips and tricks that had Derek falling apart beneath him and spilling inside his mouth.

His gag reflex could still use some work, but they had the rest of their lives to help him get rid of that pesky problem.

Not that it was much of a problem at the moment. Nope. Stiles seemed to be getting the job done just _fine_.

With a smirk, he rolled his tongue underneath the head of his Mate's cock, relishing the shuddering gasp he got in response, the twitch he felt against his cheek as Derek's thigh spasmed and his legs closed slightly. He pressed his hands to the alpha's inner-thighs, pushing his legs apart, only successful because the other man let it happen. Then he sank down on his cock, relaxing his throat and breathing through his nose as he took as much in his mouth as he could.

Derek's hand flew from the omega's cheek to his own mouth, slapping it over his lips to muffle a moan, his head tilting back in pleasure and supplication. Stiles reached up and splayed his fingers over the older man's throat, over the side of his neck, rubbing at the smooth skin above a fading Mate's Mark, making him whimper and whine behind his hand.

He loved this, loved the power he felt, even if it wasn't real. But he had an alpha completely at his mercy, had him falling apart from his ministrations, had him weak-kneed and shaking at what he was doing. It was a rush, his chest puffing up in pride and domination of sorts, his wolf rumbling in pleasure. He could feel slick soaking between his cheeks, his own cock hard between his legs once more and he pressed his hips into the mattress below him, seeking friction. Because the entire thing was turning him on once more, the taste of Derek in his mouth and the feel of his body beneath him, the way he had his fingers wrapped around his neck and his hand pressing into his thigh. It would be so easy to squeeze a little harder, to sink his claws into his femoral artery—not that he ever would, fuck no—and they both knew this.

Yet Derek let it happen, didn't fight off the weaker omega, didn't try to pull away or command him to stop. He let it happen and gave in to it and even _enjoyed_ it, given the way his cock twitched in Stiles' mouth and more precome dripped out of it.

Stiles pulled back up, sucking hard at the head again, tongue slipping into the slit to gather up more of that copious precome his alpha leaked, moaning at the taste. Hand slipping from his mouth, Derek slid his fingers through Stiles' brown hair, tugging at it to pull him completely off his cock with a pop that seemed louder than normal in the otherwise silent room. The omega peered up to meet eyes that were flickering back and forth between alpha red and Derek's amalgam of green, gold, gray, and brown, feeling more slick soaking his passage and leaking out of his gaping hole, drool falling from his mouth and landing on his Mate's cock.

Derek's mouth hung open as he continued to pant, a shudder racing through him as his hand slid around to cup the omega's cheek, thumb rubbing along his bottom lip in reverence, wiping up the saliva and precome that was coating it. “Need you,” he whispered out harshly, voice wrecked from their actions. “Need to be in you. Fuck, let me claim you, _please_.”

The younger man could only nod before crawling up the larger man's body, their lips connecting instantly as he straddled him. Hands cupped his ass, bringing him down, aligning their hard cocks and making them both groan into one another's mouths. His hips rocked on automatic, sliding them together, as index fingers tugged at his rim and stretched him further, preparing him, getting him ready for his Mate's knot. He shivered in anticipation, one hand gripping onto a broad shoulder, the other sliding through black locks at the side of Derek's head. Tongues tangled and slipped together, rolling, harsh breaths forced through their noses. Derek used his grip on Stiles' ass to control the rhythm of his pistoning hips, his own bucking up to join in. And with a swift and easy move, he slid his cock inside his Mate, seating the omega fully on top of him.

Stiles' eyes flew open as he pulled away from the other man's mouth with a gasp, his hand flying out to grab hold of the headboard. He raised up some, supporting his weight on a shaky arm, hand tangling in his sheet as he struggled to maintain his composure, as he fought not to cry out. The invasion had been sudden, taking him by surprise, but still very much welcome. He felt full once again, his Mate slotting them together perfectly, and making him cheesily feel complete.

But still...

“Fuckin' hell,” he slurred, mouth slack, jaw hanging loose as he gaped down at the older man. “Warn a guy, would ya?”

“Where's the fun in that?” Derek ground out, his eyes screwed shut as he struggled to hold on to his own composure. They opened a moment later, delight sparkling within the polychromatic irises, smirk crinkling them around the edges. Jerk.

Stiles smacked his bare chest before moving his hips in a circle, a dirty grind, rubbing his Mate against his prostate and making them both gasp in pleasure. His head tilted back, eyes drifting closed, and he allowed himself to get lost in the pleasure of it all. “You're lucky you feel so good,” he mumbled, wolf letting out a satisfied howl of its own in his head.

The alpha only grunted, which the younger man took to mean “you are absolutely right, Stiles, as always, good job”. Smug grin on his face, Stiles fully sat up and sank back down onto his cock, making those green eyes go wide.

Blow jobs he was still getting the hang of, but this? This he had fucking down.

No pun intended.

Okay, he totally intended the pun. Puns were pretty much the best.

Derek bucked his hips up and totally changed Stiles' mind on what exactly the best was.

He let out a whimper, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to hold back on any loud noises, a small part of his brain that was still working reminding him that they weren't alone in the house. But the much bigger, much _louder_ part of his brain was focused solely on getting off, everything else be damned.

With half-lidded eyes, he peered down at his Mate, noting how Derek's eyes were in a similar state, focused on his chest as his hands roamed up and down his sides, the touch soft enough to be gentle, but not too light to where it was ticklish, having learned the hard way just how sensitive Stiles' sides were. But his every touch was reverent and careful, eyes awe-struck and full of wonder, like they were every other time they did this. It made the omega's heart beat quicken, knowing he was seen as something special in the other's eyes, knowing he was valued and cherished.

Fingertips traced along his abdomen, over the barely there indents of a lame excuse for a six-pack. They connected moles and freckles in nonexistent pictures of amorphous blobs. They skimmed down ticklish flanks and over his ribs, before sliding around to his back as Derek rose to a sitting position. Stiles automatically slid his fingers through his Mate's soft hair as he felt the _pleasurepain_ scratch of whiskers rubbing on his chest, scent-marked and beard burned, leaving proof of the flesh that Derek had once again explored and laid claim to.

A smile formed on Stiles' face as he bent his head over the older man's, feeling as Derek tucked his legs in closer, arms wrapped around his leaner frame. He was held close, cradled, but with care, the alpha respectful of the difference in strength. Blunt teeth dragged along his collarbone, up the side of his neck, and he tilted his head back to give him more access, easier access, shuddering when those teeth sank into his pulse point as recognition of his submission. All the while, his hips rolled, circled, grinding deliciously and working the other man's cock against his prostate.

“I love you,” Derek whispered, dragging his bottom lip along the shell of Stiles' ear, hand splayed between his shoulder blades. “ _Fuck_. Love you so much.”

The omega nodded as he moved his head to look into his Mate's eyes, whimpering out a “love you, too” before their lips connected. Tongues rolled and hips surged and he dug human nails into broad shoulders to hold on for the ride, shuddering out a gasp at the inward thrusts. “So very fucking much in love with you.”

Derek breathed out a laugh, then buried his face in the crook of the younger man's neck to stifle a groan as Stiles' squeezed his inner-muscles around him. He slid a hand down to the omega's ass, squeezing, cupping, fingers sliding over to feel where his cock was sliding in and out of him and rasping out a swear.

“I wanna see,” he admitted, lifting his head and cupping the leaner man's cheek. “Lemme see?”

More nodding as Stiles bit his bottom lip, wishing he could see, too. He briefly considered telling Derek to grab his phone to film it, like one of those terribly shaky homemade POV pornos he may or may not have watched on occasion, desperate to see what his Mate did to him, but shoved the idea aside. There was no way he was allowing any sort of break in action, no way he was letting the alpha out of his body, much less his bed.

Some other time.

Yeah.

As long as they both agreed to never show anyone else or let anyone else know they had filmed themselves fucking. He didn't think Derek would have an issue with that though, knowing how possessive alphas could be when it came to the more intimate details of their Mates.

Not that Stiles was all that keen on letting anyone know anything about Derek, a fact that Lydia and Allison were both now aware of after he'd glared at them for asking to describe his alpha's dick.

Not fucking happening.

As much as he was dying to brag about it, because holy shit it was perfect.

Derek laid back down, hands gripping Stiles just above his hips, the omega lifting up to the head of his cock and squeezing. Fingers tightened their hold on him in an effort to bite back any noises and he let out a gasp that turned into a groan, head falling back. A hand slapped his ass lightly and he smirked, lifting his head back up to peer down at his Mate, who was scowling up at him.

“Tease.”

He blew him a kiss and giggled lowly at the eye roll he got in response. But the amused scent rolling off Derek as an undertone of all the lust and sex let him know his dorkiness was appreciated and loved.

Still gripping onto him, Derek lifted his hips in a hard slam, knocking the breath out of Stiles and causing him to almost lose balance. He grabbed onto the headboard with one hand, the other holding his cock against his lower abdomen, biting his lower lip so hard he tasted blood as he was repeatedly filled and emptied by his Mate. The alpha braced his feet on the bed for more leverage, speeding up his motions, panting harshly as he stared at where he was entering the younger man, unable to look away.

A lot like how Stiles was unable to look away from Derek's face, really. Even in the dimness of the Christmas lights, he could see the flush on his cheeks and the sheen of sweat on his skin, the shine on his lips from where he'd licked them, the way his pupils had dilated to leave just a sliver of red-flashing green. His mouth hung open, dark lashes fluttering on half-closed lids, brow pulled in pleasure, and Stiles had never seen anything more beautiful.

And he got to keep him.

His hand lazily stroked his cock, not really wanting to get off but needing to touch himself, trying to prolong everything. It wasn't about the orgasm or the rush of pleasure from coming, but the slow build, the joining between the two of them, the way they came together and gradually lifted one another to that precipice. He didn't want it to end.

The squeaking of the mattress stilled his hand and Derek's hips, the two completely freezing as they both searched the house for other sounds. Down the hall, his dad snorted and snuffled, his own mattress creaking as he rolled over. His heartbeat remained steady and low, the snores resuming, meaning they were safe.

After a long minute of tense silence, the couple locked eyes and promptly started laughing, Derek covering his mouth to muffle his while Stiles buried his face in the alpha's chest. Chuckles wracked them both, making the bed slightly shake, Derek wrapping his arms around his Mate and holding him close.

“Maybe we should change positions,” he suggested, keeping his voice low.

The omega nodded then sat up, lifting himself off his alpha's cock and kneeling to the side. “Where you want me?”

Flashing red eyes looked him up and down, a tongue darting out to lick his lips, Derek rumbling out a growl before cutting it off, eyes flying to the door to check. Safe once again, he rose up onto his own knees, moving so he was kneeling behind Stiles, hands going to his hips and moving him so he was facing the headboard dead on. “All fours,” he whispered right into his ear then nipping it, making the younger man shudder.

Stiles dropped down onto his forearms and arched his back, presenting in the way his instincts told. A low groan came from behind and his wolf wagged its tail proudly and pleased. Reaching back, he grabbed hold of his cheeks and spread them apart, putting his dripping hole on further display.

“Fuck me, alpha.”

The rumble returned but rather than entering him like Stiles had asked, Derek pressed his mouth to the rim and sucked hard. The younger man buried his face in his sheets to cover up his groan-tinged laugh, back arching to just short of breaking, trying to pull more of him in. But he didn't get that either, Derek pulling away and straightening up. Thick thighs bracketed his, a cock slapped against his hole a few times before the head was lined up and Derek slid inside.

Stiles bit down on his pillow, practically choking himself on cotton and fiber filling in order to quiet his cries. He let go of his cheeks and pulled his hands under his chest, then pressed his thighs together, making a tighter passage for the other man to enter, squeezing around his cock every time he was filled.

Derek choked out a gasp, hands squeezing his hips, the tell-tale prick of claws digging into his skin but not breaking it, not drawing blood. “Oh fuck, feels so good,” he breathed out, hips pistoning in and out in a steady pace. “Such a good little—” He cut himself off, able to stop the thought from leaving his mouth.

Not that Stiles hadn't already finished it in his own head, but he still appreciated the effort. A week or two after they'd gotten together, he'd come clean about what exactly had happened between him and Peter, about the sexual advances the older alpha had made and the shudder-tastic way he told Stiles about how he'd train him to be a good omega. As a result, Derek steered clear of calling Stiles that very thing, knowing it was a trigger of sorts, knowing that it caused the omega's heart rate to kick up in an unpleasant way and his breath to get caught in his lungs for all the wrong reasons.

But what Derek _hadn't_ known was that Stiles had been working on that trigger, had been staring at himself in the mirror and calling himself a good omega on a daily basis, until the words meant nothing to him, until he no longer thought of icy blue eyes and snarling words.

Thrusting back against his alpha, he peered over his shoulder at him, trying to meet his eyes as much as he could. “Tell me,” he breathed out, swallowing hard.

Derek shook his head, ducking it, hips still moving as his hands flexed around his hips.

“Please,” Stiles pleaded, not getting a response. Raising himself up, he pressed his back to the older man's chest, wrapping an arm around his neck and dragging his lips along his whisker-covered jaw. “Please. Tell me.” An arm wrapped around his torso and he circled his fingers around his wrist, dragging the hand down so it was cupping his still hard cock. “God, Derek, tell me _please_.” He squeezed his inner-muscles as he sucked his Mate's earlobe into his mouth and nipped at it with a fang.

Derek gasped loudly, entire body spasming from the sensation and he only just managed not to scream out, biting down at the crook of Stiles' neck in a flurry of motions. The omega covered his mouth with his hand, his Mate panting out harshly once, twice, three times before lifting his head, lips held next to his ear.

“Good omega,” he whispered, his words a low rumble, a growl vibrating against Stiles' back.

Stiles keened behind his hand, feeling himself practically fly closer to his orgasm. Derek's free arm wrapped around his chest, hand laying gently over his throat, thumb rubbing over his pulse point as their lips connected. The hand cupping his cock wrapped around it, stroking it, making him tremble and whine. He was getting close, too close, and he still didn't want it to end.

The throbbing he felt at the base of Derek's cock didn't help matters, the way it pulsed as it grew larger, his knot plumping up. It was getting harder for him to pull in and out, harder for him to thrust the way he wanted to, and he let out a whine that sounded more animal than human due to it.

“Stiles, baby, please,” he breathed against the omega's lips, making him whimper. “Need you to come.”

He shook his head vehemently, refusing, fighting it, not wanting it to be over. He felt too good, too awesome, the endorphins making his skin buzz and his nerves tingle and he could see why people got addicted to this, because he was certainly on his way there.

Or at least addicted to Derek fucking him.

“Please,” the alpha pleaded, lips pressed to his cheek, hand stroking him faster, squeezing him tighter. He let out a gasp, hips bucking on automatic, a push-pull between Derek's hand and his cock. His mind may have wanted it to keep going, but his body was demanding release, demanding he get off as soon as possible.

Asshole.

His fingers tangled in Derek's hair, tugging, the digits spasming beyond his control. Not that he had control of anything at that moment, hurtling towards orgasm, free-falling through it all with no parachute and no safety net.

The arm around his chest grew tighter, hand cupping the side of his neck as Derek nuzzled the other side of it, tongue trailing up the column of his throat. “Baby, I can't hold on,” he rasped out, knot slipping inside and fully expanding to lock them together, as though on cue in order to back up the words. “I need you to come for me.”

Stiles whined, fangs sinking into his bottom lip, hips grinding against his backside as the knot was rubbed against his prostate. Derek's thumb rubbed at the slit of his cock, playing with it, practically coaxing the come out of it, and his blunt teeth bit into the side of his neck.

Right where a Claiming Bite would go.

Stiles' eyes flew open, his jaw dropping and mouth widening in a silent cry, his entire body tensing up. His orgasm shot out of him like a rocket, hitting the wall, the headboard, his pillow, causing him to shake all over. He was vaguely aware of his claws digging into Derek's forearms, of the scent of blood filling the air only to be covered up by that of his come, everything that wasn't pleasure and ecstasy and _Derek_ fuzzy and unimportant.

Meaning he was only vaguely aware of the heat of his alpha's come flooding his passage, of the alpha cupping his jaw and bending his head back against his shoulder as he panted harshly against his neck, his own body trembling as he filled up his omega. He was only vaguely aware of Derek lowering them carefully, mindful of the knot still holding them together and the way parts of Stiles' body were either locked up or completely jelly, laying them side-by-side on the bed, avoiding the wet spot the omega had made. He was only vaguely aware of the shuddering orgasms that were wracking both of them and how powerful the whole thing was, due to the fact that he couldn't cry out like he usually did.

After he managed to come down from his high and his mind cleared of its post-orgasmic fog, Stiles found himself seriously contemplating his life.

Which wasn't really something one was supposed to do when being spooned by a shuddering alpha who was whimpering as another load of come was released inside them, but it was Stiles and it was his brain and neither of them were what anyone would consider to be “normal”.

Biting his lip to hold back a groan of his own at the sensation, his eyes came across his still clear glass board, the info regarding Stu's disappearance having been removed a short time after he and Derek had gotten together and Stiles' mind was working right. Being away at school meant he hadn't really had the time to find anything else to put on it, another case or project to obsess over. Maybe he could use it when he started his thesis next year...

“Are you seriously thinking right now?” Derek grumbled, trailing his nose up along the sensitive flesh of Stiles' neck.

The omega shivered then nodded. “Can't help it,” he mumbled back, reaching down to grab hold of his Mate's hand and play with his fingers. “Mind won't shut up.”

“Mm. Maybe I need to do a better job then,” the alpha suggested in his ear with a dirty grind of his hips, making Stiles' eyes roll to the back of his head.

He barely managed to shove his face into his pillow to stifle his moan, swatting his arm to smack blindly at the older man, scowling at the chuckle that was vibrating against him. “Not fair.”

“Never said I play fair.”

He peeked over his shoulder to glare at his Mate, huffing as he turned to face the front, staring at the glass board once more. Kisses were pressed to his bare shoulder, Derek's way of apologizing, fingers being laced together in front of his stomach. He let out a content sigh, small smile playing on his lips as his Mate continued rubbing his nose and pressing his lips to his bare skin. But rather than enjoying the intimacy of the moment, his mind was stuck on what used to be on that board, on the printed out messages that once littered it.

Clearing his throat, he settled more into his pillow, idly playing with the older man's fingers again. “You know that email Stu sent me on his last day?” he asked quietly, staring down at their hands.

“The one you said you couldn't read?” Derek accused, the cocked eyebrow practically audible.

He rolled his eyes at that. “Yeah, that one. Did I ever tell you what it actually said?” He felt Derek's head shaking against his shoulder. “' _Mates don't always mean happy ever after._ '”

A snort rocked them both. “Typical Stu really,” he commented, smearing a hand over his face.

The omega seesawed his head in concession at that. “True. But I actually believed it for a while. I thought you and I weren't gonna get our happy ending, and Laura didn't seem like she was getting hers either. And Stu _definitely_ didn't get his.” His wolf whimpered in his head and his chest got tight the way it always did when he spoke about his brother and he sniffed, the sound loud in the dark.

More kisses were pressed to his skin, arms wrapping around him tighter. “I know,” Derek whispered as he laid his head against Stiles'. “But I guess that just makes us one of the lucky ones. 'Cause come Hell or highwater, I'm gonna make damn sure you get your happy ending.”

Stiles pulled away just enough so he could turn his head and meet the other man's eyes, noting how he was holding himself up on an elbow. “I already got my happy ending,” he stated honestly—if not incredibly cheesily. “I got you.”

A huge grin formed on Derek's face, dimples forming, lines appearing around those brilliant green eyes Stiles was in love with. Leaning down, he kissed his Mate, pouring every ounce of love and affection into it, turning the omega's brain to mush incapable of thinking anything but one thought:

“ _Yoall erry nodied yayhoo reev nowon._ ”

“ _They all lived happily ever after._ ”


End file.
